Bezold Effect
by Psychopithicus
Summary: Sequel to Ripple Effect, second main entry in Effect series. The fallen Overwatch begins to lick its wounds and pick up its pieces, all the while still trying to bring peace to a world in desperate need of heroes. But in this world, where new heroes are settling into their newer roles, there are times when heroes must choose both what and who to believe in, and define who they are.
1. Chapter 1: New Beginning

**Hello, all. Having just read the new comic prelude to the King's Row Uprising event, I figured I'd keep riding the hype train by bringing you all the true sequel to my first Overwatch story, Ripple Effect. Big thanks to everyone who's read along so far; whether you've read the main story or any of the two Side Effect one-shots, your interest in this little project of mine is what inspires me to keep going.**

 **(side note: reading the previous stories in this series is not necessarily required, as recaps are worked into the narration, but still recommended to give you the best picture).**

 **Without further ado, let's dive in.**

 **Bezold Effect**

Chapter 1: New Beginning

Dawn broke over the Greek city of Ilios. As the sun's light gradually canvassed the city, Ilios' people became steadily more active. Merchants lined the streets as they set up their stands, laying out their tourist baits of choice. The streets bustled more and more as the morning progressed, with all manner of people doing their best to enjoy their lives.

Even the ones who saw themselves as outcasts rose to carry out their daily routines. And one such person, tucked in the dead end of an alley, was no exception.

With a groggy groan, a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair rolled off of a bare mattress, still buried in her light bed sheets as light poured through the large window-like hole in the front door of her slapdash wooden shack.

"Ow," the girl mumbled as she stripped off her cocoon of covers and unceremoniously tossed them back onto her makeshift bed. She stood up and stretched her slim frame several times, then gathered up her scattered things.

She slid a ragged bandolier over her dark green shirt, clipped a snake-skin belt across her waist, and slipped a long quarterstaff onto her back. The girl then took several bolas, each seeming to have a taser in place of orbs, and concealed them in whatever part of her person would allow her to best do so. She repeated this process with some small handmade mines, each with a red cross sloppily painted on.

With her preparations complete, the girl lightly kicked her front door open, shielding her eyes for a moment when the light fully hit them. After taking a moment to adjust, grumbling about the sun all the while, the girl glanced out to the street. She smiled; there was no place like home.

The girl sauntered out into the world, seemingly unburdened by the weight from her collection of equipment. Soon, familiar cries drifted into her ears.

"Bread for sale! Who wants some bread?"

"Fruits and vegetables here, fresh from Oasis! Eggplants, pineapples, cabbage, the works!"

"You will find no meat fresher than you will at my stand!"

 _Man…so many choices today,_ the girl thought, keeping a hand on her staff. _What should I have for breakfast?_

From the safety of an alley's entrance, the girl's eyes went from merchant to merchant. Then, a vibrant purple color nestled in one stand caught her eye.

 _Huh…never had an eggplant before,_ the girl thought with a shrug. _Worth a try._

She slipped out of the alley and casually crossed the street, quietly withdrawing one of her mines from its space within her clothes. Once she reached the opposite side of the street, she set the mine on the ground and kicked it over to the vegetable merchant.

"Hmm?" the merchant hummed upon seeing the device, kneeling down to check it. He failed to notice the mysterious girl clambering up the wall perpendicular to his stand.

With a beep, the mine's lid split open, spraying out a thick cloud of gas. The merchant coughed and choked as he fumbled to wave away the gas, allowing the girl who left the mine to drop from the roof unnoticed. With the merchant distracted, she snatched up a few eggplants, tucking them in her shirt before darting into another alley.

She smirked to herself. That trick never got old.

The smirk turned to a frown as she looked over one of the eggplants. This wasn't a food one would just bite into, and the girl had no means of cutting it legitimately. So, with another shrug, she pulled her staff off of her back and stabbed the butt of it into the eggplant. The gooey hole this action created gave her a chance to slip her fingers into the eggplant and, with several mighty heaves, rip it into bite-sized chunks.

"Whew!" the girl huffed. "There we go."

She quickly popped one of the eggplant pieces into her mouth. Though she had more flavorful meals in the past, the eggplant certainly wasn't terrible. She shrugged and gave it a score of seven before messily devouring the rest.

"Aw, no way!"

The girl froze. Had she been caught?

"Dude, you're so lucky! That's the best birthday present!"

The girl relaxed. There were some children just outside the alley, in a street opposite to that of the market, paying more mind to their toys and celebrations than to her. She shrugged and continued to consume her eggplants, giving the children just as little attention.

"Man, that's so cool!" one of the kids exclaimed. "Hey, what about Winston?"

The thief girl paused mid-bite. She knew the name of Winston, and it heated her blood.

"Got it covered!" another child replied. "Now Winston _and_ Tracer are here!"

Tracer. Another name she despised, perhaps more so than that of Winston. Were they here in Ilios, violating her home? The girl stored the last of her food away, much in the manner a chipmunk would, before creeping to the edge of the alley.

The children huddled around one of their number. In each of the star child's hands was a small figurine. One figure bore the likeness of an armored gorilla, and the other was of young woman in a brown flight jacket and skin-tight yellow leggings; Winston and Tracer from Overwatch.

"Those figures are so hard to find now!" one of the patron children gasped, eyes wide with wonder. "How'd your parents get them?"

"My dad knows a few people," the figurines' owner replied smugly. He glanced over and saw an older girl, the street urchin, casually observing the children from the alley. "Hi! You want to see my action figures?"

"Won't your mom and dad be mad you're talking to strangers?" one of his admirers asked.

"Eh, don't worry about it," the thief girl shrugged. "Just because I have a big stick doesn't mean I'm going to whack you with it. Unless you make me mad, then we have a problem."

The toy-bearing child strode out of the crowd and right up to her, face beaming with excitement and pride. "What's your name?"

"Diamantina," the street urchin replied. "But my friends call me Tina."

"Do you like Overwatch, too?" the child asked, holding his figures up high enough for Tina to see them.

"Not really," the street thief shook her head. "I hung out with those two, once. They were kind of jerks."

The figurine-loving boy almost dropped his figures alongside his jaw. "You _met_ Winston and Tracer?! THAT'S SO COOL!"

"Look, Overwatch did some bad things to me, okay?" Tina sighed, kneeling down to the boy's eye level. "I'm not gonna tell you what you can or can't like, that'll just make me as bad as them. But, take it from me: not everyone's gonna like what you like. You just gotta live with it, hang with people who get you."

"But…I want to know what meeting Tracer and Winston was like," the boy pouted.

"Yeah! Me, too!" some of his followers chanted.

"Guys, I didn't hang out with them for that long!" Tina laughed. "I met them a couple months ago while I was traveling the world. They said a few nice things, but that doesn't make them good."

"You traveled? I never get to do that!" the figurine boy gasped.

"Yeah…I traveled," Tina trailed off with a small smile. "You know, I should do it again sometime. Only so much I can do around here, and the world out there's pretty big. Plus, if I go by myself, I won't have jerks breathing down my neck and telling me what to do."

Her smile grew as her idea tumbled on like a snowball down a hill, its form compounding further the more she mused.

"Okay, I know what I'm gonna do now," Tina grinned. "I gotta go, guys. Later!"

The children gave her a chorus of short farewells as she turned and left them. Tina's grin couldn't be wider. She'd had a sufficient break, and now she yearned for more adventure. It was time for a new beginning.

Now all she needed was a good ship to stow away on.

* * *

In another part of the world that Tina longed to explore, a brunette woman in a purple coat slipped through the streets with all the ease of a shadow in the night. Soon, she came upon a door with the word " _Calaveras_ " printed on a sign hanging beside it. Once inside the bar, the woman drifted past most of the patrons, making her way to one individual at the counter. Her contact, a man in his early thirties with wild red hair and ragged clothes, gave her a glance and a nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey," the woman said, helping herself to the seat beside him.

"Yo," the man grunted, taking a swig from his glass. "You sure take a while to get meetings arranged, Sombra."

"I told you, my bosses are working me like a dog after that botched job in Russia," the woman sighed. She looked to the bartender with a smirk. " _Ya estoy lista para ese trago_."

The bartender nodded and went to fill up a glass for her. Sombra looked back to her companion.

"You have what I'm looking for?" she asked.

"I don't know," the man said whimsically. "You actually have my payment for this job? And the job before that?"

"Ugh, for the love of—look, I'll get you your money soon, all right?" Sombra groaned. "Just give me the package."

Without even looking, the man pulled a small black box out of his pocket, casually tossing it to Sombra. She carefully caught it in her clawed fingers, turning the object over in her hand and examining its pulsing red circuit patterns with a cat-like grin.

" _Perfecto_ ," Sombra grinned darkly, stuffing the box in her own pocket. "You know, I've been telling my friends about you, and how you always get the job done."

"Good," the man grunted before taking another swig.

"They're _very_ interested in getting to know you," Sombra grinned. "Interested enough to offer you a job or two, in fact."

The man paused, setting his drink down. "Don't they already have some of the top mercs in their pocket?"

"The more the merrier," Sombra shrugged. "Besides, who doesn't want to have a ninja working for them?"

"I'm no 'ninja' anymore," the man snorted, though he couldn't conceal an amused smirk. "But, I suppose the amount of people your 'friends' have working for them means they're better with their payments. Think I'll give them a shot."

"I'll be sure to let them know," Sombra smirked. "Looking forward to doing less hands-off work with you."

The man just smirked and took another swig. Employment by one of the world's top terrorist organizations sounded interesting, despite the inevitable competition he would have to face.

But that was just an opportunity to prove his mettle.


	2. Chapter 2: Marked

**Hope everyone's enjoying the new Uprising event! I know I am (especially those Widowmaker and Genji skins...can't get over the cowlick Widow seems to have in her new skin, though). Hope you all enjoy this new chapter, too.**

Chapter 2: Marked

The master of the Shimada Clan had returned.

Hanzo Shimada closed his eyes and breathed in the evening air of Hanamura. His yearly pilgrimage to honor his fallen brother had been completed months ago; that was when he had learned the truth about his younger sibling's fate, and the…creature…his brother had become. Hanzo knew he was still unwelcome in his old hometown, but his honor demanded that he come.

He looked down at the letter in his hand. There was no greeting, no signature, and no identifying mark of any kind. There was simply the name of a local restaurant—an old favorite of his brother's, the Rikimaru Ramen Shop—as well the date and time and the French phrase " _Cherchez la femme_ ". The restaurant itself was in sight, but it should have been closed by this time.

Why, then, was a light visible within?

With his bow safely secured to his back, Hanzo quietly entered the restaurant. As the letter had instructed, he scanned the area for a woman. She turned out to be rather easy to find; the restaurant's sole occupant was a blue-skinned woman sitting at a lone table. Her golden, hawk-like eyes aimed in Hanzo's direction upon his arrival.

" _Bonjour_ ," the woman said with a smirk. Hanzo narrowed his eyes at the French greeting.

"Do you speak English?" the archer asked.

"Indeed."

"Then I take it you are my hostess," Hanzo stated, tossing the letter to her as if it were a throwing star. She caught it between her gloved fingers with ease. "And what do they call you?"

"Widowmaker," the woman replied, her voice smooth as silk. She gestured to a seat across from her, but Hanzo crossed his arms as he stood by the door. With a shrug, Widowmaker continued. "This meeting has been arranged at the request of my employers. I represent an organization called Talon."

"I believe I know of them," Hanzo said with a slight sneer. "Phantoms of darkness who seek power."

" _Oui_ ," Widowmaker nodded. "And these 'phantoms' have access to great resources."

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. Widowmaker placed her hands atop one another on the table before her.

"Talon could restore your family's empire," she said.

The former Shimada heir's eyes narrowed again. "But at what cost?"

Widowmaker's smirk grew; this man was no fool. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that your end of the bargain would be to render assistance towards achieving Talon's goals. The manner in which you assist us could be financial, martial, or what have you. But, in the end, I am simply Talon's premiere sniper. The final word isn't up to me."

"You are a sniper?" Hanzo snorted. He derisively eyed the semi-automatic assault rifle taking up the seat next to her. "I would wager on my bow against your rifle any day."

Widowmaker smirked. "That would be the last mistake you ever made."

* * *

In any situation on any sort of mission, there was always the possibility of failure. Talon had seen its fair share of failures, and as such, contingencies were in place to minimize—if not outright prevent—them. For their attempt to bring Hanzo Shimada into their shadowy fold, Talon had stationed a small battalion of its personal soldiers on scattered Hanamura rooftops, each with orders to prevent any possible interference with Widowmaker's negotiations.

Amos Clemens, one such Talon soldier, quietly sat on the roof of the 16-Bit Hero arcade, casually fiddling with his small handgun as his companion—another Talon grunt, this one armed with a full-fledged rifle—maintained a watch for activity. The glowing red eyes of their skull-like helmets illuminated the night, casting a bloody gaze across the city. Both grunts were quiet, though the one primarily on lookout occasionally shot a wary glance in Amos' direction, as if expecting something unnatural to come from him. Amos didn't mind; it meant that he could have some space, some freedom to let his mind wander.

He hadn't come to Talon very long ago; he figured it was half a year ago that he was forcibly enrolled in the organization by its main mercenary contact. In that time, however, quite a bit had taken place in Amos' life. The brainwashing he was placed under, designed to turn all of Talon's foot soldiers into loyal and maniacal killers, happened to break during a panic attack in his now-infamous mission to Dorado. With his true personality back in control, Amos managed to turn his tendency to panic into a façade, painting him as one of Talon's most uncontrollable and volatile operatives (and instilling an ironic fear of him into his comrades).

But one agent of Talon had seen through the mask, and saw what Amos could truly be. He leaned his head back as the thought of her sent him sailing on cloud nine.

Widowmaker.

She had taken him under her wing, apparently believing that he could be more than just another grunt, and evaluated his skills on subsequent missions. Following this period of study, Widowmaker had him reassigned from standard infantry to frontline medic duty, where his medicinal training from before Talon could be used to its fullest. She even went as far as to honor his request for, of all things, a longer-sleeved shirt to replace the T-shirt typically worn in Talon's grunt uniform.

Amos' heart swelled like a balloon at the thought of her consideration, but he gave his head a shake with a grunt (further perturbing his comrade). There were times when he wished the sniper who he found so beautiful, who had seen promise in him where others had only seen failure, would see him as something beyond a low-level coworker. Then he remembered that she was a deadly assassin who could riddle him with bullets if he so much as twitched in a way she didn't like. As he often had to remind himself, it would be significantly better for his health if his feelings simply went unnoticed.

A gurgled scream suddenly pierced through the night air, ripping Amos' mind from its wanderings. He clambered up to look around while his fellow grunt aimed his rifle in every possible direction.

Then they caught a glimpse of one of their own, lying dead on another roof.

"The hell?" growled Amos' comrade, but before Amos could reply, another muffled grunt came from near them. "We've got company."

"Oh, boy," Amos gulped, putting a finger to the side of his helmet and activating his radio. "Uh, boss? It's Clemens! We've got a problem! We've lost two guys—"

Another choked shout. The other grunt on Amos' roof darted to the opposite side, rifle still at the ready.

"No, wait, make that three," Amos corrected himself. "Something's out here with us, it's moving—"

One more pained cry.

"There goes number four," Amos murmured, dread building up within him. Remembering who he was speaking to, however, prompted a quick attempt at recomposing himself. "T-there's—there's something out here, taking us out really fast, and—"

The grunt on his roof grunted, and collapsed. The only sign of an attacker was a silver-and-green shuriken lodged in the fallen grunt's forehead.

"And…we just lost number five," Amos said slowly. His fear and dread ascended to its apex. "I…I think I'm alone out here, now."

He looked around, slowly backing to the edge of the roof.

"Um…any chance I could have some backup?" Amos asked with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I-I know you're kind of busy right now, but—"

He cut himself off with a tiny gasp. His head was being held upward by a strong hand, and something sharp and silver slid just under his Adam's apple.

" _Clemens?_ " Widowmaker's voice came through the other end of Amos' radio. " _Clemens, report! What's going on?_ "

"…I'm going to need to call you back," Amos whimpered in a low voice.

He reluctantly cut the line off, then turned his eyes downward to the blade at his throat. Amos could not see his assailant; all he could tell was that the sword was lined with a green light that shone against the dark night. The touch of the icy metal against his throat sent a trickling chill down his spine.

"You seem much more talkative than your friends," the assailant said in a Japanese accent. His voice also contained a metallic tone, as if he were speaking through a tin can. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what Talon wants with Hanzo Shimada?"

Amos' eyes, barely visible beneath the crimson lenses on his helmet, darted to the ramen shop below. He scanned the windows desperately for any sign of his superior coming to the rescue. But, all it seemed he could do now was talk.

"Uh…well, that'll depend on…you know…what happens to me afterward," Amos answered nervously.

"Hmm…a fair question," the assailant commented, his grip on Amos' head still vice-like. "Should you prove cooperative, I may simply leave you in the hands of the local authorities and ensure that they take your good behavior into account. Otherwise," he continued, his blade gleaming hungrily in the moonlight, "you will share your comrades' fate."

 _Come on, Widow, where are you?_ Amos thought, his mind racing in tandem with his heart. _Come on, please…_

"Now, tell me, why are you here?" the assailant commanded.

"L-listen, you're, uh—you're probably not going to like hearing this, but—you're asking completely the wrong person," Amos sputtered. "I'm just a grunt, okay? They don't tell me why or what for, they just—well, they give me the gun and tell me to shoot…probably because of situations like this, actually."

"You were speaking to a superior before our conversation, were you not?" the assailant asked. "Perhaps I will spare you if you can direct me to him."

"Uh… _she_ is actually a little busy," Amos replied. "I mean, she's—she's one of Talon's best operatives, her plate's a little full…you know how it is, right?"

"I'm sure she can work a moment with me into her schedule," the assailant said darkly. "Tell me where I can find—GAH!"

Something whizzed behind Amos, and the grating shriek of shearing metal quickly followed. The assailant finally released his grip on Amos, allowing the soldier to spring free and make a mad dash for the ramen shop below. He paused just long enough to pull a small black sphere from one of the pouches on his ballistic vest, spinning around to throw it at his assailant but returning his gaze to the shop too quickly to get a good look at the attacker. The small sphere exploded into a large wad of slime, trapping the assailant in place, but Amos paid it no mind. He had to move quickly, but upon looking down at the street, his found his only means of getting to the shop to be an awning below him.

With a sigh, Amos reluctantly clambered over the rooftop edge and fell onto the awning, bouncing off and landing rear-first on the street with a thud. Grumbling as he got to his feet, the sound of shattering glass caught his attention.

Widowmaker rolled out one of the ramen shop's windows, spraying a cascade of bullets into the shop as she went. Talon's assassin flipped to her feet and resumed fire, ensuring that whatever opposition she faced would not take her lightly.

"Boss!" Amos cried, rushing to Widowmaker's side. "Boss, what happened?! What's going on?! How is that guy still alive? Did you miss? You never miss!"

"Clemens, will you stop—" Widowmaker's irritated scolding suddenly ceased. Something she saw out of the corner of her eye prompted her to shove her subordinate to the ground. "Get down!"

An arrow blazed by, burying itself in a wall. Its owner soon stepped out of the ramen shop.

"To be a good sniper…you must ignore all distractions," Hanzo said, loading another arrow into his bow. "As for your offer, 'Widowmaker', I believe I will take my chances with the demon I know over the one I don't."

As if on cue, the silver-and-green assailant landed on the ground behind the Talon operatives. Amos' eyes went wide when he finally saw his former captor; he recognized the green visor and metallic body.

"Boss?" he blinked.

"What?"

"So…turns out I was being interrogated by Genji Shimada. You know, from Overwatch?"

"Fascinating," Widowmaker deadpanned, taking a cylinder from the pouch on her thigh and slipping it into her gun. "Are you ready to fight?"

Amos sighed as he rose to his feet, reloading his own weapon. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Good enough," Widowmaker rolled her eyes before opening fire on Hanzo again.

The archer dashed back inside the ramen shop, but his vanishing seemed to trigger something in the cyborg named Genji. The familiar green-lined sword leapt from its sheath once more, and with his blade at the ready, Genji lunged forth. Amos yelped at the sight, grabbing another of his glue grenades and quickly throwing it at the incoming cyborg.

" _Jōtō da_!" Genji grunted, angling his sword so that the flat side faced the grenade. The sword moved swiftly, batting Amos' grenade back at its owner and forcing him to pull Widowmaker out of the way.

"Sorry!" Amos shrieked as his superior dusted herself off. "He bounced my grenade back at us, and—"

"Forget it!" Widowmaker snapped. "Focus!"

She pointed one arm at Genji, allowing the gauntlet she wore to spit out a spider-like device with a vial of purple liquid in place of an abdomen. Recognizing the trap, Genji leapt aside and somehow performed a second jump mid-air, tossing a trio of scattered shuriken at the Talon agents. Two of the shuriken were easily dodged, but the center one was still on target. Widowmaker quickly extended the barrel of her rifle, putting it its sniping configuration, before firing a single shot that knocked the last shuriken out of the air.

"Boss!" Amos suddenly shouted. "Roof!"

Widowmaker turned around in time to see Hanzo standing on the ramen shop's roof, the archer letting another arrow fly a split-second later. The two Talon agents scattered as the arrow fell between them, but once the arrow hit the ground, it somehow split into a swarm of shots that repeatedly ricocheted off of every wall in the area. Several arrows tore through Amos' sleeves, but his superior did not have such protection. An arrow's pointed head grazed her bare forearm, eliciting a pained cry as it drew a line of crimson blood across her periwinkle skin.

"Oh, no," Amos murmured, fumbling through his pouches for what seemed to be a wad of rags. "Boss, catch!"

He threw the wad to her and she caught it with ease, his superior rolling behind a Rikimaru delivery truck for cover.

" _Merci_!" she called back as she quickly unfolded the wad, slapping the moist inner layer against her wound. Immediately, she could feel the chemicals in her subordinate's small invention cauterizing the cut, allowing her to poke the barrel of her rifle through the truck's open window without any hindrance.

Hanzo sprang from the roof to a walkway as a bullet from Widowmaker's rifle blazed past, the archer returning fire with his arrows. Amos tried to make his way back to his superior, but a silver-and-green figure landed directly in front of him.

"Come on," Genji hissed viciously, blade at the ready with its brightest green glow.

Amos slowly backed away, laughing nervously until the thump of a wall against his back cut off his forced mirth. Genji slowly dragged the slim edge of his sword through his clasped free hand, green sparks dancing off his fingers as if in anticipation of tasting blood.

 _Okay. Okay, think. Think fast,_ Amos' mind raced. _He'll cut off my hand if I reach for my grenades or gun, Widow's busy and probably won't be able to—_

A spider-like device skidded to a stop at Genji's feet, quickly belching out a purple cloud. Despite lacking any visible means of inhalation, Genji quickly clapped a hand over the lower half of his mask as he bounded out of the cloud's range, giving Amos the opportunity to slip away from the cyborg ninja and back to his superior's side.

"Boss!" he panted. "Hey, listen, thanks for the save—"

"Quiet!" Widowmaker interrupted. "Bomb!"

"Huh? Oh, right!" Amos gave his head a shake and pulled a slightly larger black sphere out of one of his pouches. He roughly threw the sphere to the ground, causing it to explode into a thick black mist that covered the battlefield.

" _Parfait_ ," Widowmaker purred, aiming her rifle into the smokescreen. "Now, we finish this."

"Uh—wait, you can see them?" Amos asked.

"No one can hide from my sights," Widowmaker replied, the two lower portions of her visor sliding over her true eyes. Once her infa-red vision was in place, she could see red silhouettes of Genji and Hanzo buried within the smoke. Each Shimada brother was standing in place as they glanced about for any sign of their foes, a fact that only made Widowmaker's predatory smirk grow. " _Á la vie_ …"

Within the smokescreen, Genji's metallic body tensed.

" _Á la mort_ ," Widowmaker finished, launching a single bullet towards Hanzo's skull.

Hanzo's brother suddenly came back to life, speeding towards the former Shimada head and placing himself directly in the path of Widowmaker's bullet. With one quick swipe of Genji's sword, the bullet shot back to whence it came, ripping through the rifle's scope and knocking the weapon as a whole out of its owner's hands.

"Boss!" Amos shrieked as Widowmaker clutched her hand, her visor giving way to her natural eyes. "Oh, God, are you okay?!"

"I'm _fine_!" she snapped. "Focus!"

Genji looked to his brother, but Hanzo simply harrumphed, pushing his sibling aside and taking aim with his bow. Amos scrambled to retrieve Widowmaker's fallen rifle, quickly handing it back to his beloved superior. Just as she took it from him, a blue glow could be seen on Hanzo's bare, tattoo-covered arm. The glow formed into a serpentine shape, coiling down the archer's arm and into his bow's latest arrow.

" _Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau_!" Hanzo roared dramatically.

The arrow sprang from his bow, but the shot seemed to fade into a blue light that dominated the night. The single serpentine shape split into two snarling, snake-like beasts born of energy, each writhing through the air and barreling towards the two Talon agents.

"What the—ARE THOSE FREAKING _DRAGONS_?!" Amos screeched, eyes bulging beneath his helmet.

"Move!" Widowmaker snapped, gripping his wrist and pulling the both of them out of the dragons' path.

The two Talon agents rolled across the ground (Amos partly being thrown by Widowmaker), and Hanzo's beasts soared past, somehow phasing through every solid object in their path. Soon, the dragons vanished without a trace, but the city of Hanamura began to stir. Lights flickered in the windows.

"We've lost our advantage," Widowmaker remarked, golden eyes narrowing. "It's time we left."

"Yeah," Amos sighed in relief as the blue-skinned sniper put one finger to her visor. "Yeah, that sounds good to me."

But Genji landed on the brick road a short distance away from them, sword at the ready.

"Clemens?" Widowmaker looked to her subordinate.

Amos took his cue and tossed down another smoke bomb, creating a second cloud of ebon mist. Genji charged through the fog, but his blade found nothing. Hanzo fired a blunt-tipped arrow into the cloud, then waited.

"They hide from even the dragon's eyes," Hanzo frowned. "The phantoms have fled."

"So it would seem," Genji commented as the smoke cleared. He finally sheathed his swords. "I see you have been keeping busy, Hanzo."

"You are a fool to return here!" Hanzo spat. "We are _both_ marked for death by our family!"

"I go where I must, brother," Genji replied, walking straight up to his elder sibling. "It's time we talked."

* * *

Once aboard one of Talon's jet-black dropships, Amos collapsed into a chair with a sigh. "Well…that could have gone better."

" _Et c'est comme ça_ ," Widowmaker shrugged, sitting across from him and examining her damaged rifle. "Much as we would both prefer otherwise, our missions won't go perfectly every time."

"Yeah, I guess," Amos nodded. "So…what happens now? About the Shimadas, I mean?"

"They have made themselves enemies of Talon," Widowmaker said matter-of-factly. "And the enemies of Talon will be eliminated."

Amos nodded, but couldn't disregard the chill her indifference stirred into his blood. A thought crept into his head, mixing fear into the concoction. When his conditioning had first failed, he had considered deserting Talon; what if he had went through with it? Widowmaker seemed to accept his company now, even with the knowledge that he was different from the other grunts…but what would happen if she learned about the people Amos had fought alongside in recent months?

How would she see him if she learned he had befriended some of Talon's greatest enemies?


	3. Chapter 3: Eye of the Tiger

Chapter 3: Eye of the Tiger

"I will take back what is mine by birthright!"

Genji sighed. He had been staying in Hanamura in the days since the skirmish with Talon's operatives, trying incessantly to dissuade Hanzo from continuing his lonely quest for personal atonement. But, as always, his brother was the stubborn sort.

"Look around you!" Hanzo gestured to their surroundings. Genji could only comply, but smiled beneath his mask.

As the two brothers looked over the town from a rooftop, the cherry blossoms below stretched their pink fingers to touch the blue sky. The sun scattered its rays across the town, bathing Hanamura in their light. And, even with the modifications to his body, Genji could still detect the wafting scent of ramen coming from the Rikimaru shop. Fond memories came to the cyborg's mind, but were quickly driven away by Hanzo's sharp tongue.

"All this was to be mine," the archer sighed. "To be _ours_ , Genji. Together, we could have built an empire."

"That was your dream," Genji shook his head. "Not mine."

"Hmph…some things never change," Hanzo snorted and turned away. Genji's metallic hand found its way to the archer's shoulder.

"You do not have to live this life, brother," Genji insisted, but Hanzo shoved the hand away.

"I do what I must," Hanzo growled.

"Hanzo…you know that I have forgiven you," the younger Shimada said solemnly. Hanzo began to walk away, but his pursuing brother would not relent. "I know your actions against me brought you only pain. I know you gave up the sword after that fateful battle. And I _know_ ," Genji continued, finally stopping, "that there is still good in your heart."

Hanzo stopped as well, turning his head just enough to glare at Genji out of the corner of his eye.

"You know nothing about me," the elder Shimada said in a low growl. "And it seems I know nothing about you."

He held up his bow, aiming an arrow at Genji's visor. The cyborg only sighed.

"Some things indeed never change," Genji shook his head. A set of three shuriken slid out of his mechanized arm, positioning themselves between his knuckles.

Then came a cavalcade of heavy footsteps.

The door to the roof burst open, and a swarm of Talon soldiers spilled out, each with assault rifles trained on the Shimada brothers. In seconds, the soldiers had their targets surrounded. Genji and Hanzo looked to one another, and as if reaching an unspoken agreement, turned their gazes to their present foes.

"You do not want me for your enemy," Hanzo growled, his latest arrow ready to fly.

The soldiers simply opened fire. Hanzo ducked and rolled aside, but Genji dashed between his brother and their assailants, sword whipping about wildly as he deflected the onslaught of bullets. A fair few Talon soldiers fell to their own reflected shots, but some were wise enough to cease fire and attempt a different tactic. Cords shot from the bottoms of their rifles, wrapping themselves around Genji and sending an electric charge coursing through the cyborg's body.

"Enough of this!" Hanzo snapped, sending an arrow into the center of the Talon crowd. As it had done against Amos and Widowmaker, the arrow split from one into many, and the dancing shots felled the remaining soldiers. "Hmph…weaklings."

"Behind you!"

Genji's urgent warning prompted Hanzo to turn, and the archer found himself face-to-face with a rather large shotgun wielded by what seemed to be a hooded figure in a skull-like mask. Before the figure could fire, Hanzo thrust his palm forward and aimed for the masked man's chest.

But he hit nothing. The figure broke into a black mist that scattered across the roof.

"What?" Hanzo blinked, keeping his bow ready. Genji slowly rose to his feet, still weak from the earlier electrical shocks. "What was that creature?"

"One of Talon's mercenaries, if Overwatch's old intelligence reports are to be trusted," Genji replied, preparing his blade. "And I suspect he is still nearby."

It was quiet for a moment. The air was still. The sun loomed over Hanamura. The cherry blossoms froze.

Then something dark bloomed from the ground between the Shimada brothers.

"Death comes for all," rasped the mercenary called Reaper, dual shotguns blazing the second they emerged from the folds of his long coat.

The brothers scattered, forcing Reaper to train one weapon on each target. Bullets scattered about with each shotgun blast, the unarmored Hanzo finding it progressively trickier to escape injury. Genji noticed, then glanced down to the street.

"We need more room!" Genji cried just before he bounded off the roof. Hanzo frowned, but followed. Reaper sighed, unceremoniously tossing his expended shotguns aside before morphing his body into mist once more.

* * *

Down in the 16-Bit Hero arcade, the red-haired mercenary from Calaveras lounged against the wall by the front door. He casually picked a credit chip out of his pocket and gave it a flip. Heads, his client would call soon. Tails, he would be waiting longer.

The chip fell. He snatched it out of the air and had it on the back of his other hand a split-second later. Heads.

Then the earpiece his client had given him came to life.

" _Hey_ ," Sombra's voice came through. " _So, that troop battalion didn't last very long, and now a good friend of mine is stuck against two angry screaming Shimadas. Mind giving him a hand?_ "

"Well, if he's as cranky as you say he is, I suppose swooping in to save the day will make the competition a little less troublesome," the red-haired man shrugged before cutting off the line with a tap to the earpiece. He looked to the doors, spying two familiar figures through the built-in windows. The mercenary cracked his knuckles with a smirk. "Heh…into the dragon's lair."

* * *

Outside, Hanzo managed to run up a sheer wall, quickly vaulting off and taking aim at Reaper. Just as the arrow fired, however, the dark mercenary vanished into smoke once more, reassembling himself beside Genji. The cyborg's blade danced madly, taking every chance to deflect shots from a fresh pair of shotguns.

Hanzo prepared another arrow, but a newcomer emerging from the arcade caught his eye. His face donned a sneer of rage.

" _You_ ," the archer growled with as much contempt as he could muster.

"Yo!" the red-haired mercenary smirked, raising a hand in greeting. Genji and Reaper stopped for a moment.

"Kaito?" Genji said slowly.

"That's my name," the red-haired man deadpanned, casually walking up to the fray.

"You are not welcome here!" Hanzo spat, taking aim at the intruder.

"Well, looks like you and I finally have something in common, eh?" Kaito snickered. Hanzo bared his teeth in fury.

Reaper's grip on his guns tightened. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm your backup, Gruesome," Kaito answered, standing a short distance away. The two Shimada brothers now stood in a corridor on the street, with one mercenary on each end.

"I never asked for _help_ ," Reaper snarled contemptuously.

"Look, you want to complain to someone, complain to your bosses at Talon," Kaito sighed. "They're the ones footing my bill today."

Reaper paused with an unseen grimace. "Then you'd better be worth it."

Genji quietly tightened his grip on his sword. "So…the rumors are true."

"Got to pay the rent somehow," Kaito shrugged. "So, Gruesome, got a favorite out of these two?"

"The tin can is on my list," Reaper nodded to Genji.

Kaito's mouth spread into a toothy grin. "Then Hanzo's all mine."

A yellow light began to emanate from Kaito's chest, partially obscured beneath his shabby garments. With a primal bellow, Kaito leapt through the air and tackled Hanzo, the two tumbling down the street until the red-haired mercenary flipped the archer into the wooden walls of the Shimada fortress. Hanzo quickly rolled to his feet, preparing another arrow.

"You cowardly dog!" spat the former clan master. "You are a disgrace to your noble family!"

Kaito only chuckled. "And I am perfectly all right with that."

This only added fuel to the fire of Hanzo's rage. The archer let loose another arrow, but yellow energy formed around Kaito's hands. The energy formed into massive tiger-like paws, and Kaito subsequently positioned them in the arrow's path. Despite the seeming lack of physical matter, Kaito's clawed energy gauntlets somehow managed to block Hanzo's arrow with ease. The archer's eyes widened; this was something he had never seen before.

"So," Kaito smirked, tossing the arrow aside and flexing his paws of light, "what do you say to a little game of cat and mouse?"

Meanwhile, Reaper focused his fire on Genji, forcing the cyborg back into a wall. Try as the younger Shimada might, deflecting the bullets back at their source seemed to do little. Reaper flinched briefly at each impact, but pressed on all the same.

" _Kuso_!" Genji grimaced under his breath.

Reaper chuckled darkly, tossing his now-empty shotguns aside and pulling another pair out of his coat. Recognizing an opportunity, Genji surged forth, plunging his blade into Reaper's body. Reaper cried out in pain, but dispersed into mist once more, allowing Genji to simply tumble through. With his enemy gone, Genji could see Kaito casually swatting away Hanzo's arrows.

"Brother!" Genji cried, rushing to the archer's aid. His blade swung for Kaito, but the red-haired man propelled himself into the air, his tiger paws disappearing as he aimed the tubes on his wrists at the Shimada brothers.

Bullets of energy burst from the tubes, raining down on the Shimadas and forcing Hanzo to dance around them. Genji simply deflected the shots aimed at him, and with this layer of protection in place, the cyborg was able to bring his blade down on Kaito. The mercenary's tiger paws returned, however, clapping Genji's sword between them.

"Why are you doing this, Kaito?!" Genji demanded. "Have you truly cast aside your honor, just for _money_?!

Kaito simply laughed and kicked Genji in the stomach, forcing the former Overwatch operative to flip backwards in order to land on his feet.

"Same as always, huh? Still obsessed with your principles," Kaito shook his head. "And still forgetful."

Genji tilted his head in confusion, but a chill behind him forced the brothers to turn. Reaper had reformed once more, appearing behind them with his guns crossed over his chest.

"Impossible!" Hanzo balked. "I saw my brother kill you!"

"The grave cannot hold me," Reaper growled, aiming his guns.

But before he could fire, a blue light spontaneously whipped past the combatants.

"The hell was that?" Kaito raised an eyebrow.

Reaper only growled, clenching the handles of his guns. Before anyone could speak further, the blue light returned, sending a hail of blue lasers towards Reaper. The grim gunslinger's body dissipated once more, but before Kaito could intervene, a massive shape dropped in front of him and swatted him aside. The mercenary rolled down the street, stopping himself and standing up in time to see a young woman with spiky brown hair and a massive armored gorilla take a stance beside Genji.

"Cheers, love!" cried Tracer, another former Overwatch agent. "The cavalry's here!"

"Genji," smiled her ally, Winston the gorilla, as he adjusted his glasses. "This is just like old times!"

"Our paths cross for now," Genji said plainly. "As to the future…we will see."

Kaito spat a wad of blood on the ground, dragging a hand across his lip. A baleful glint lit up his eyes as a yellow aura coated his body.

"Get out of my way," he growled, thrusting his hands forward.

A massive yellow tiger head exploded from Kaito's palms, jaws opening wide as it lunged for the group. Tracer cried out in shock, but Genji stepped forward with sword in hnd.

" _Ryūjin no ken wo kurae_!" the cyborg roared, his blade glowing brightly as a green serpent materialized around his body. Then he leapt directly into the tiger's jaws.

"Genji!" Winston cried, but his concern proved unwarranted when the tiger head burst into a shower of sparks, Genji himself bearing down on Kaito. The mercenary's tiger paw shield returned, attempting to block Genji's dragon as it thrashed at him. Eventually, with one last mighty swing, the dragon broke through, the rush of energy pushing Kaito further down the street and into a wall.

"Ugh…guess I'm done here," Kaito grumbled as he rose to his feet. "See you around, Genji."

With that, Kaito leapt atop the Rikimaru delivery van, using it as a springboard to reach a rooftop and escape. Genji sighed; so many things had changed since he had last come to Hanamura. Hanzo simply frowned as he turned to leave.

"So, Genji!" Tracer smiled as Genji made to pursue his brother, forcing the cyborg to stop. "How you been, love?"

"A moment," Genji replied curtly before turning his gaze back to the departing archer. "Hanzo!"

The elder Shimada paused, barely turning his head to look back.

"It is not too late to change your course, brother," Genji pleaded.

But Hanzo sighed sadly. "You are mistaken, brother. I am beyond redemption."

Then it became Hanzo's turn to climb the walls and leave the scene. Genji bowed his head.

"So, this is what has become of you?" the cyborg muttered. "A pity."

"Ah, forget him!" Tracer waved her hand. "He's got every right to feel bad after what he did to you!"

"Thank you for your input, Miss Oxton," Genji said sternly. The British woman winced and took an apologetic step back.

"Ahem," Winston interjected. "So, uh, Genji…how have things been with you?"

"They have much improved since we last met," the cyborg replied. "But, I can only assume that this is visit is not for purely social reasons."

"Unfortunately, that's correct," Winston nodded. "I take it you received the recall notice?"

"Indeed," Genji sighed. "But my debt to Overwatch has long since been paid."

"Yeah, we figured you'd say something like that," Tracer grinned, throwing the cyborg a wink. "But there's something we'd like you to see, anyway."

She pulled out a small photograph and handed it to Genji. He looked down at the picture, recognizing himself—metallic body covered in an orange-and-black uniform—gathered alongside various Overwatch members. Beside him were Tracer and Genji, both also wearing the orange-and-black uniform, as all three stood beneath a banner bearing the word "CONGRATULATIONS" while other members of Overwatch followed the banner's order in their own ways.

"Remember this?" Winston asked. "The day we all completed our field agent training?"

"I do," Genji nodded. "I remember Reinhardt and McCree pushing me to not be a—what was the word you had used, Miss Oxton? Sourpuss?"

"Aw, someone had to get you to lighten up a little!" Tracer laughed. "Even grumpy old Torbjorn had a good laugh back then!"

Genji simply looked down at the picture again. The massive Reinhardt had clapped a hand on Genji's shoulder, with the self-styled cowboy McCree using his own hands to connect Reinhardt's shoulder to that of a saluting Ana Amari. At the time, Genji himself had simply looked over to Tracer, who literally jumped for joy as Winston bashfully laughed. In the present, the cyborg glanced across the photo, finding his hidden eyes halting on a blonde woman who gave a more composed clap for the three graduates: one Dr. Angela Ziegler.

The woman who had saved Genji's life all those years ago.

"We realize that you…didn't exactly come into Overwatch under the best circumstances," Winston began. "And, I'll admit, I'm certain there were some of us who only saw you as an asset. But, there were also some of us who saw you as part of our family."

Family. The word, coming from one of the people for whom Genji once held such disdain, gave the ninja pause. Winston put a hand on Genji's shoulder, just as Reinhardt had years ago.

"The world needs our help, now more than ever," Winston continued. "It needs our family back together. Will you come back to us, Genji?"

A moment passed before the cyborg spoke again. "I recently told my brother that the world is changing…and that we must choose a side. Perhaps I should take my own advice."

"So…whose side do you want, love?" Tracer smiled, looking at him expectantly.

"Talon has clearly marked my brother for death," Genji remarked, "and I stand the best chance of protecting him if I join you again."

"WOO-HOO!" Tracer suddenly whooped, pumping her fists and leaping to the sky. "We'll take it!"

"I suspected you would," Genji sighed.

"Don't worry, things will be better this time," Winston assured him with a slight laugh. "Now, let's go. We've got an _Orca_ waiting to take us home."


	4. Chapter 4: Hollywood

Chapter 4: Hollywood

Genji had not expected his renewed employment with the resurging Overwatch to be quite like this.

In the week since his reunion with his former comrades, the cyborg had accompanied Winston and Tracer back to Watchpoint Gibraltar, where most of their time was spent...waiting. Without a functioning satellite system to detect unusual activity, the team was forced to scour news reports and mercenary job postings for any possible need of their services. The latter of these duties was what brought them to a glitzy land called Hollywood.

"Come on, I'm not paying you for your acting ability!" snapped an irritated, slightly mechanized voice from within a black limo. "Let's get moving!"

"We'll be escorting you once we get the all-clear, Mr. Glitchbot," Winston assured the limo. The voice within harrumphed and grumbled, but the gorilla ignored it as he looked to his teammates. "I, uh, realize this isn't exactly the sort of job we're used to, but—"

"We are selling our services for profit," Genji interjected, arms crossed. "How does this make us different from those we fight?"

"I know that hiring ourselves out isn't what Overwatch is meant to stand for, but our…current state of affairs means we need to take funding where we can get it," Winston sighed. "I'm not exactly thrilled with it, either, but until we can prove ourselves to the world again, we have to make do."

Genji hummed briefly, then silence hovered between the two.

"I've always liked working with you, Winston," the cyborg said finally. "No awkward small talk."

"Always liked working with you, too," Winston smiled. "You have…uh…a great sense of humor!"

Genji blinked underneath his mask. "…Right."

* * *

Elsewhere in Hollywood, a familiar girl with a quarterstaff slowly rotated in place, marveling at what surrounded her. Tina had only been traveling for a short time, but this place seemed to beat out everything she had seen so far.

Hollywood had _everything_. There was a small wood-laden town fit for cowboys, a towering fortress straight out of feudal Japan, sidewalks studded with massive stars, and even alien spacecrafts. It didn't even matter to Tina that all of it was fake, simple sets for shooting movies; it looked _amazing_. But what she saw as the best part was right outside the Japanese fortress: graffiti on the wall spelling out "LOS MUERTOS" with the first O being replaced by an ornate skull.

There were people like her here. There were people who lived outside society's useless laws, who lived according to their own rules. She simply had to meet these people.

With the agility of a feral cat, Tina clambered up to rooftops and jumped from building to building, occasionally using her staff to pole vault her way to her next destination. All the while, she scoured the streets below for some sort of criminal activity. Anything from a gathering of thugs to a heist to harassment of officials would have caught her eye, but there was nothing.

Nothing but a door marked "SECURITY" that happened to be ajar.

Tilting her head in interest, Tina slid down a drainage pipe and crept over to the door, staff at the ready. She gently pushed the door open and slipped inside, finding a wealth of video screens manned by a single security guard. Tina managed to suppress a snort; the guard was too busy fiddling with a card game on his tablet to notice her. With one swift swing of her quarterstaff, Tina clubbed the guard in the head before pushing his subsequently-unconscious body out of his chair.

"So, what do we got here?" she mused, lounging in the chair and scanning the various screens. The street urchin helped herself to some of the guard's now-unprotected lunch as her eyes hunted for something interesting. Perhaps a gathering of like-minded individuals she could invite herself to?

A smile crossed her lips as one screen showed her such a gathering in the form of clustered thugs, all firing their guns at some target that happened to be out of the camera's sight. Tina prepared to spring out of her chair and bolt to their location, but just as she stood up, a trio of small rockets shot into the crowd of thugs and dispersed them, bodies hitting the pavement in seconds.

Tina's eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to the screen, trying to find the source of those rockets. Soon, the perpetrator came into view; a man in a motorcycle jacket, face obscured by a dark mask with a red visor, appeared just long enough to aim his rifle at the camera. The feed cut out shortly afterward.

Memories from months past lit up Tina's mind with rage. She knew exactly who that man with the rifle was, and it was past time for him to be taught a lesson.

* * *

"Now, then," Widowmaker began, "let's discuss today's mission."

The Talon dropship bound for Hollywood had a small number of passengers. Widowmaker herself stood by the door, rifle repaired and in hand. Amos was in one of the seats, body safely strapped in and eyes fixed on his commander. As long as her pure perfection was in his world, everything around him was little more than white noise.

"We are to eliminate the Omnic film director known as HAL-Fred Glitchbot," the blue-skinned sniper continued. Her voice was like honey in Amos' ears, though his mind still screamed that the nectar was poisonous. "Unfortunately, Glitchbot has acquired some hired protection in the form of several _former_ Overwatch agents, which is why we will have some extra muscle for this job."

"I will feast on their souls," rasped a familiar voice from near Amos. The Talon soldier jumped a little; he had actually managed to forget that Reaper was there.

"That reminds me," Widowmaker looked to the hooded figure. "I was told we would have another mercenary joining us. Where is he?"

"He's not reliable," Reaper grunted. "Forget him. We have a job to do."

Widowmaker sighed. "Very well. Shall we?"

Amos hid a grimace beneath his helmet as he unbuckled himself and readied his handgun.

 _Yep_ , he thought. _I am going to die._

* * *

The thud of flesh hitting concrete could be heard as Los Muertos' thugs fell, one by one. The visor-wearing vigilante the press dubbed "Soldier 76" scowled as he slew each of his skull-marked targets, each bullet from his bulky rifle fueled by contempt. A single thug crept out from cover behind the Soldier long enough to take aim, only to fall back down seconds later, a strange dart in his forehead.

"That seems to be the last one," remarked an elderly woman in a hood as she approached Soldier 76.

"For now, at least," 76 remarked grimly. "Los Muertos still has a sizeable chapter in Dorado, and who knows how many more of them will take the places of the ones we took down here."

"All of this _will_ end someday. It has to," replied the woman. "What are you going to do when the fighting's over, Jack?"

"I'm a soldier, Ana," Soldier 76 answered. "Retirement doesn't suit me."

"How did I know you would say that?" Ana shook her head, though she nonetheless wore a sad smile. "Shall we move on to our next targets?"

76 nodded, and the two made their way through the alleys, approaching the wider streets of Hollywood. Soon, they came across a black limousine patrolling the roads, accompanied by a familiar group.

"Well, someone's keeping busy," Ana chuckled at the sight of Winston riding atop the limo.

But Soldier 76 gripped his rifle more tightly. "What are they doing here?"

"Escort duty, it looks like," Ana observed. "Perhaps we should—"

Something small and dark rolled in front of the limo, and in seconds, a black fog covered the road. The limo ground to a halt, but Winston remained atop it, planting a flat device on the car's roof. The ape's device projected a massive bubble of blue energy, enveloping the entire limo. From the rooftops above, Genji gripped his blade. He recognized that smoke bomb.

Winston, meanwhile, coughed out whatever smoke he inhaled, keeping one hand on his Tesla Cannon. Eventually, the smoke began to clear. A sinister chuckle could be heard in the air as some of the remaining fog swirled into a humanoid form.

"Stupid monkey," Reaper spat as he let loose with his dual shotguns. Winston put his shoulder in the way, allowing the armor it bore to take the brunt of the damage. But Reaper continued his assault, pushing Winston back and off the limo.

"Hang on, big guy!" Tracer cried, quickly slipping out of the limo and into the fray, unloading her pistols in Reaper's direction. Unfortunately, the shadowy gunslinger dispersed into mist once more, reforming a moment later and dividing his shots between the two Overwatch operatives.

Ana's observing face contorted with worry at the scene before her. "Jack…"

"I'm on it," Soldier 76 replied gruffly, readying his gun and taking one step out into the street.

"WHAT'S UP, YOU OLD FARTS?!"

76 turned around just in time to see a worn sneaker's heel barreling towards his masked face. The impact knocked him flat onto his back, but he had no time to get up before Tina burst out of nowhere and landed on top of his chest.

"Remember me?!" she snarled, raising her staff to strike but finding Ana's arm firmly snaking around hers.

"Tina! Stop this right now!" the elder woman snapped.

"Piss off, hag!" Tina shot back, jabbing her free elbow into Ana's stomach and forcing Overwatch's sniper back. The diversion, however, gave Soldier 76 time to push Tina off of him.

"I don't have time to play with some snot-nosed punk," the old soldier grunted, turning his gaze to the fight.

"You think I'm just gonna let you off easy?!" Tina shrieked, swinging her staff wildly as 76 blocked and dodged her attempts to bludgeon him. "After you almost blew me up?!"

"Stupid kid," 76 muttered before finally shoving his fist into Tina's stomach. "Stay down. We'll deal with you later."

Soldier 76 headed down the street and into the brawl, leaving the street urchin from Ilios doubled over and coughing a wad of blood onto the pavement. She suddenly felt a sharp sting in her arm, as if a needle had been stuck into it. In seconds, the pain miraculously vanished, and Tina pulled a syringe-like dart out of her arm.

"My goodness…what are we going to do with you, Tina?" Ana sighed as Tina tossed the dart away. "How did you even get here? I notice your electric friend isn't around."

"He's not my friend," Tina spat, wiping the remaining blood off of her mouth. "And neither are you."

"Tina," Ana said sternly, putting a firm hand on the girl's shoulder. "I realize that you don't want me around, but you need _someone_ to look after you. You're too young to be—"

"Can it, hag," Tina snorted. "I'm twenty-two. If I'm old enough to drink, I'm old enough to not have to listen to your shit."

Ana blinked for a second; she honestly hadn't expected Tina to be a legal adult. "Well, regardless—"

Tina suddenly swept her staff at Ana's feet, tripping the older woman up and knocking her to the pavement.

"Stay out of my life," the thief growled before chasing after Soldier 76.

Ana shook her head as she pushed herself to her feet. How stubborn the young could often be.

* * *

Amos flattened himself against the wall of an alley as the noise of battle raged outside, praying that no one could see him there. As directed, he had dropped a smoke bomb to stop the limo. Now, as a field medic, his task was to maintain his superiors' battle-ready condition. But, there were two significant roadblocks that hindered his effectiveness; one was an armored gorilla wielding a lightning-shooting canon, and the other was a British pilot with a pair of laser pistols.

The young soldier grimaced nervously at the thought of their discovering him. Tracer and Winston considered themselves his friends, and after fighting alongside them against a deranged human-turned-Omnic, Amos had to admit he was growing fond of their company as well. But he suspected that the second he stepped out into the open, where the two Overwatch operatives would have a painfully clear view of him, they would not hesitate to expose his connection to them to his superiors—no, to his beloved Widowmaker. She would rip him to shreds if she knew, and even if Tracer and Winston's intentions were good, he had to avoid them. Amos sighed. His life was becoming so much more complicated than it needed to be.

The complications doubled when another familiar Overwatch agent landed in front of him.

"We meet again," Genji said calmly as he drew his sword. "I suspected it was you who stopped the car."

Amos gulped, flattening himself against a wall and preparing for the worst. Genji seemed ready to deliver it, drawing back his blade. Amos squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the pain.

" _Genji, where are you?_ " the ninja's comm buzzed to life, Winston's voice emanating from it. Amos timidly opened one eye. " _We're pinned down by multiple hostiles!_ "

Genji swore under his breath. "I am on my way."

He shut off his communicator and glared at Amos, his latest set of shuriken sliding into the spaces between the cyborg's knuckles. With a swift flick of Genji's wrist, the stars hurtled towards the Talon grunt, forcing him to shut his eyes again. But, rather than the quick death Amos expected, he instead found himself pinned to the wall, the shuriken having only pierced his clothes.

"You are quite lucky you're a very minor threat," Genji said to the young soldier. "My comrades and I will deal with you shortly, and we will be lenient… _if you stay put_ ," he added sternly.

With that, Genji darted off, leaving Amos stuck to the wall. The Talon soldier took a moment to examine the weaponry holding him captive. If he tore his new shirt slightly, he could feasibly escape. But, doing so would most likely mean his joining the fight, and finding himself in Overwatch's crosshairs once again. Then again, if he remained here, he would have to face Winston and Tracer again…and he somehow doubted they would be happy to see him aiding their enemies.

 _Damned if I do, damned if I don't,_ he thought with a sigh. He then began to carefully pull his arms free, ripping away the pinned portions of his clothes in the process.

* * *

By the time Genji arrived, the streets of Hollywood had fallen into chaos.

Winston's bubble was still in place atop Glitchbot's limo, but the gorilla himself had forgone his Tesla Cannon and was busily trying to swat Reaper with his massive arms. Soldier 76 had also joined the brawl, and while his fire seemed to focus primarily on Reaper, Tracer had evidently taken it upon herself to keep 76 at bay.

"For the love of—" the old soldier growled as Tracer blinked around the street, stopping just long enough to fire off a volley of shots before disappearing again. "Get out of my way, or I'll run you over!"

Genji prepared to leap to Tracer's aid, but a cry of pure rage stopped him.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE DONE WITH ME, JACKASS?!" Tina roared as she barreled into the fray, staff whipping about in a frenzy of swings. Tracer stopped long enough to let her jaw drop slightly at the thief's sudden entrance.

"Never did like stubborn punks," Soldier 76 muttered as he continued to block Tina's strikes. He soon grabbed the end of her staff and ripped it out of her hand. "Go home, kid. Give it up—"

Before he could finish, an object coated in yellow light soared overhead, landing close to Winston and Reaper.

"Sorry I'm late," Kaito quipped as he dusted himself off. "Figured I'd take the scenic route, what with this being Hollywood and all."

"Just deal with the monkey," Reaper snarled. "I have personal business to take care of."

The hooded gunslinger vanished in another of his trademark wisps of darkness, leaving Kaito and Winston behind.

"So," the Japanese mercenary smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Ready for round two?"

Genji took this opportunity to land beside Winston, blade gleaming hungrily. "I would say we are."

"Oh-ho," Kaito grinned at the sight of the cyborg. "This is gonna be _good_."

His phantasmal tiger paws materialized around his hands, and with a gleeful cackle, Kaito charged into battle.

* * *

Meanwhile, a panting and tattered Amos came to a halt just outside the battlefield. He quickly surveyed the mess he was getting into today: several Overwatch agents engaging an unknown mercenary, Reaper battling a well-known wanted criminal and a familiar staff-wielding girl. The latter of these items made Amos do a double-take. What was Tina doing here?

His question was answered when she swung at Soldier 76 again, only for the old soldier to fire several shots at her feet, keeping her in place.

"Stay out of this," 76 growled. Reaper slipped one clawed hand under his hood.

"Widowmaker," the hooded mercenary rasped, "target the girl with the staff."

Amos stifled a gasp, and the sudden tensing of Soldier 76's body implied similar thoughts.

"SNIPER!" he yelled, suddenly tackling Tina to the pavement as a bullet whizzed past them, shattering a window as it went. In seconds, the old soldier was back on his feet, rifle at the ready.

"Get your head down or lose it!" he snapped at her. Reaper could only chuckle.

"Having trouble with a little girl, Jack?" the hooded soldier asked.

Soldier 76 ignored his question, keeping one eye on the upper levels of the nearby buildings—where the sniper might be located—and one eye on his long-time foe. "Well. You sure take to this bad guy thing easily, don't you?"

"And you always knew how to play boy scout," Reaper replied, drawing out his latest pair of shotguns. A worried frown crossed Tina's lips, having seen what this dark warrior was capable of.

"Get to safety. Now!" 76 growled at Tina. This time, the girl obeyed. She ducked into a nearby shop, prompting the watching Amos to heave a sigh of relief.

With Tina gone, Soldier 76 was able to freely take aim at Reaper. Before a single shot could be fired, however, a dart abruptly shot into the faux grim reaper's chest. This dart was shortly followed by several more, each one injecting a strange purple fluid into Reaper's body. The dark mercenary fell to one knee, coughing violently, before collapsing on the ground. Soldier 76 eyed him darkly before heading into the building Tina had ducked into.

"Oh…oh, boy," Amos whimpered. He put a finger to the side of his helmet. "Uh, boss? Any idea what just downed Reaper?"

" _Sniper,_ " Widowmaker replied, her typically-deadpan voice dripping with an unusual contempt. " _Leave this to me. Go and support the other mercenary._ "

With a click, she cut off the call. Amos gulped; he had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

This opportunity was simply too good for Widowmaker to ignore. It was time to correct a mistake.

It didn't take her long to find her target. The old woman was nestled in an alley, hidden from the fighters in the fray but also having a clear view of her own targets. From her perch on the scaffolding, Widowmaker took aim.

But the old woman saw her. She also took aim. And she fired first.

Widowmaker's grapple erupted from her gauntlet, latching onto a wall and carrying her through the air. Talon's sniper converted her rifle to its assault configuration as she flipped down to street level, her graceful movements in direct opposition to the vulgar roar of her gun. The old woman darted away as Widowmaker rained bullets down, forcing the blue-skinned woman to pursue.

"The world's greatest sniper… _formerly_ ," Widowmaker said tauntingly, a sinister smirk growing on her face. "You should have stayed dead. Your day was decades ago, and the world has moved on…yet here you are, fighting a losing battle. Just as you always have."

No response. Widowmaker's smirk faded slightly.

"You were once a legend," she said. "But, what are you now? Just a shell of a woman."

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the old woman pointing a rifle at her.

"I take it you don't want my autograph, then," Ana replied dryly.

* * *

As Reaper and Soldier traded shots, Kaito wrestled with Winston, the gorilla launching the mercenary into the air with a mighty swing. His tiger paws blocked Tracer's laser shots, but when he came back to the ground, he found Genji waiting for him. Winston lumbered off to see to the limo while Genji and Tracer darted around Kaito, double-teaming him with speedy movements and quick weapon shots.

" _Uh, hi, new guy? Whatever your name is?_ " the voice of Amos came through Kaito's communicator. " _Listen, I'm with Talon. I'm your backup, but I need you to do some things for me. Minor stuff, like 'move in this or that direction by however many steps'._ "

"All right, with you so far," Kaito said quietly with a shrug.

" _Okay, first? Get clear. Like, really clear._ "

Kaito leapt atop a building, and seconds later, one of Amos' slime grenades tumbled out from a window and towards Genji. The cyborg quickly found himself literally glued to a wall, arms pinned and unable to free himself.

"Heh, nice," Kaito snickered. He brought one tiger paw up to block Tracer's fire. "Anything for the other one? She's kind of spunky."

" _Uh…that blinking thing she does make it hard to stick her like I did Genji,_ " Amos said nervously. " _Just—I don't think she can zip around forever, try and wear her out!_ "

"Done," Kaito nodded, his tiger paws dissipating as he opened fire with the tubes on his wrists.

Meanwhile, Amos ducked under the window of a nearby building. This seemed like the best of both worlds, being able to do his job without catching the attention of Tracer and Winston. But now, it was time to see if this job could finally be finished.

"Widow? It's Clemens, you there?" Amos said into his communicator.

No response.

"Widow?"

Nothing.

"Widowmaker?!"

Still nothing. Fear gripped at Amos' heart. Please don't let it be _her_ that they lost on a mission. Please let her be all right…

"Uh, merc guy? I—my boss isn't picking up, I-I need to step out for a bit!" Amos told Kaito over radio, voice trembling in spite of his attempts to hide it. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

He barely heard whatever reply Kaito gave as he cut off the line and scrambled through the alleys. He had to find her. He couldn't let the one person in years who had lifted him up, unintentionally or otherwise, fall in the line of Talon's twisted duty.

* * *

Widowmaker rolled aside as another of Ana's darts tore through her voluminous hair. She countered with a quick shot of her own, one that Ana dodged by slipping into cover behind a dumpster. The buzzing in Widowmaker's visor from her subordinate's pestering had finally stopped, allowing her to focus.

"Widow!"

Talon's sniper rolled her eyes with an irritated sigh. Of course he would come running up to her, out of breath but not stopping until he was by her side. Of course he would distract her in every way he could.

"Oh, thank God—"

" _What_ are you doing, Clemens?" Widowmaker interrupted, her sharp tone prompting Amos to cringe. "I ordered you to support the mercenary!"

"I did!" Amos protested. "He's got it covered now! But we're outnumbered, and—and you weren't answering your comm, so—"

"Ugh, fine," Widowmaker sighed. "Deal with this old ghost while I finish the mission."

She nodded her head over to Ana's hiding spot, then turned to leave. Amos heaved a quiet sigh of resignation and pulled out his gun.

"So this is what's become of you, Amélie."

Ana slipped out into the open and pointed her rifle at Widowmaker's back. Talon's sniper simply kept walking, but Amos looked to his departing superior. The name Ana had just uttered was foreign to him, and only Widowmaker had the answer. But Ana wasn't finished yet.

"Gérard was a fool to love someone like you."

Time froze.

Widowmaker stopped in her tracks. Amos' jaw slightly dropped; he had no idea what this old woman was talking about, but he could recognize a low blow when he heard one. He opened his mouth to speak to his superior, but Widowmaker turned her head around with the iciest glare Amos had ever seen from her.

"You don't know _anything_ about him," she hissed.

If time had been on pause before, it now seemed like someone had hit a cosmic fast-forward button. Ana fired a dart at Widowmaker. Widowmaker fired a bullet at the older sniper. Amos threw one of his glue grenades at Ana.

Widowmaker's bullet ripped through Ana's scope, but missed any flesh. Overwatch's sniper was successfully caught in the slime from Amos' grenade, but one dart left her rifle and rocketed towards Widowmaker. The rifle being shaken by Ana's sudden entrapment meant that the dart's initial target—Widowmaker's forehead—had been missed entirely. But it found a new one in Widowmaker's shoulder.

She let out a pained cry as the dart injected its mysterious venom, her body reacting by coughing furiously. In moments, Widowmaker was doubled-over and vomiting on the pavement.

"WIDOW!" Amos shrieked, rushing to his superior's side. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry! It's all my fault! Oh God—Oh God, what do we do? Oh God, no, please stay with me! Please, please, stay with me!"

Ana struggled against her gooey prison, but this didn't stop her from listening in on Amos' concern.

"Okay, uh—okay, come on, boss," Amos said as he draped Widowmaker's arm around his shoulders and hoisted her up. "We're getting out of here. We're done, the mission's done. It's over. We can't stay here."

He didn't even give Ana a glance as he hurriedly escorted Widowmaker to safety, and Widowmaker was too ill to protest her subordinate's carrying her away. Instead, the grunt put his one free hand to his communicator.

* * *

True to Amos' word, Tracer's constant blinking had caused the vibrant blue glow of her white harness to fade. Kaito grinned as he prepared to fire, but a nearby groan pulled away his focus. Despite the toxins of Ana's darts, Reaper was getting up.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Kaito asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Didn't take," Reaper replied gruffly as he yanked the darts out.

" _Hey, uh, merc guy?_ " Amos' voice came over the radio again.

"Oh, hey," Kaito said. "Guess what? Gruesome's back on his feet."'

" _Who?_ "

Kaito furrowed one eyebrow. "Uh…think his actual name was Reaper or something?"

" _What?! How's he—what am I saying, of course he is_ ," Amos sighed." _Never mind that, we're pulling out. Our sniper's down, we're outnumbered, the mission's a bust._ "

His words reached Reaper's radio, as well, and the shrouded soldier growled angrily before fading into mist again. Kaito grunted, but shrugged as he charged his body with energy and leapt away. Genji finally ripped himself free of his sticky bonds, but it was too late to pursue. He sighed and sheathed his sword.

"Everyone all right?" Winston asked as he lumbered over. "Mr. Glitchbot has gotten to safety, and will be transferring the money he promised soon."

"Winston, Tina's here!" Tracer cried. "She nearly got shot, she's in that building—follow me!"

The British time-hopper was off like a shot, Winston and a confused Genji following. The three quickly came upon the shop Tina was using as refuge, but found Soldier 76 as well.

Tracer's pistols were back out in an instant. Soldier 76 added a fresh clip to his rifle.

"Go ahead," the old soldier growled. "Give me a reason."


	5. Chapter 5: Hearts and Homes

Chapter 5: Hearts and Homes

Amos could barely hold in his panic as he led the ailing Widowmaker into the Talon dropship, laying her down across several seats.

"Okay!" Amos panted. "Okay, uh—uh—it's going to be fine! I, uh…h-hold still for just a second."

He gently tugged on the dart Ana had lodged into his superior's bare shoulder, eventually pulling it out and hoping that it would make even the tiniest difference. After slipping the dart into his pocket, he scrambled over to a nearby wall-mounted first-aid kit and threw it open, furiously rummaging through its contents until he pulled out a small bandage. Widowmaker opened her mouth as if to say something, but found herself vomiting again.

"Okay, look, I know you really want to tell me how badly I did out there or how you don't want to be treated like a child or whatever, but…I'm just trying to help, okay?" Amos sighed. "I just want to do my job, here."

Widowmaker gritted her teeth, trying desperately to suppress the pain as Ana's chemicals ripped through her insides. Her subordinate took her wounded shoulder and gently wrapped the bandage around the wound.

"Okay, we're going to see if the doctors back at the base know more about…this," Amos said, patting the pocket with Ana's dart in it. "Just...just try and get some rest, all right? You're going to need pretty much every ounce of strength you have. Oh, and, uh—hang on one second—here."

He scrambled back to the first-aid kit and lifted out a small cloth. After dabbing a bit of water on it, Amos took the cloth and lightly dabbed at Widowmaker's mouth in an attempt to clean off the vomit. The sniper, however, let out an irritated groan and turned her face away.

"Boss, I—come on, will you please just meet me halfway here!" Amos huffed. He paused for a few seconds before putting his palm to his helmeted forehead. "Sorry, I'm just—I'm a little rattled here. Look, just tell me what I _can_ do for you, all right? I'll do anything, anything at all."

His superior's response was to throw up on the floor again.

"Good idea," Amos sighed. "I'll get a mop."

* * *

Things were still tense in Hollywood.

Tracer and Soldier 76 had their guns trained on one another, each ready to open fire at the slightest provocation. Winston had his Tesla Cannon by his side, and Genji kept a hand on his sheathed blade. Tina, lurking in the back of the shop, held her staff at the ready and was fully prepared to bludgeon anyone and everyone she saw as being in her way.

"You're that guy who stole all that Overwatch tech," Tracer growled. "Soldier 76, right?"

"Doesn't matter what they call me," 76 grunted.

"Someone's going to put a stop to your illegal activities," Winston added.

The old soldier snorted. "You're one to talk. You and your pals are breaking the law, same as me."

"We're nothing like you!" Tracer snapped. "You go around hurting people and taking what doesn't belong to you! _We're_ the good guys! We protect people from guys like you!"

"Petras Act still stands," 76 countered. "All Overwatch activity is illegal, no matter how you look at it."

Tracer bared her teeth, but it was Tina who spoke up from the back.

"Are we gonna start shooting now?" she asked. "I kinda need to know who to hit first."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Tracer almost dropped her pistols at the sound of Ana's voice. She and Winston whirled around to find the old sniper standing behind them, a warm smile on her face. Genji remained where he was, still gripping his blade handle but now dividing his attention between the two old soldiers.

"Captain Amari?" Winston blinked.

"Cap?" Tracer gasped. "Is…is that really you?"

Ana's smile grew. "It is, Lena. It's me."

Tracer's face broke into an ear-to-ear grin as she rushed over and threw her arms around Ana. Winston smiled, but it faded once he looked back to Soldier 76 and Tina.

"I won't get in your way if you won't get in mine," 76 growled. "Believe it or not, we want the same thing."

Winston narrowed his eyes. "You're going to cross a line, if you haven't already. And we're going to stop you."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," 76 grunted. He looked past Winston and to Ana, who had managed to separate herself from Tracer's bear-hug. "This mean you stand with them?"

"I'm afraid so," Ana sighed. "It's time I faced the past, and past time I looked to the future. But I'll still be watching over you."

"Fair enough," Soldier 76 nodded and made his way out the back door, not giving Tina so much as a sideways glance. The street urchin frowned and folded her arms. This wasn't over.

"Oi, Tina!" Tracer called as she went up to the young thief. "How've you been, love?"

"None of your business, Watchbait," Tina spat.

"Same as always, huh?" Tracer huffed.

"You seem to get around quite a bit for someone with no home or family," Ana remarked. Tracer and Winston's eyes widened slightly as they looked to the girl. "When did you meet these two?"

"Doesn't matter," Tina snapped.

"We met a couple months ago when we worked together to stop a…deranged Omnic," Winston explained, deciding that the complex nature of their foe from that period was a story best left for another time. "She barely said anything about herself, though."

"Huh," Ana hummed. "And here I thought you might open up a little more to people closer to your age."

"I'm not a little kid, dammit!" Tina snarled.

"Well, you sure act like one," Tracer smiled. Tina swung her staff at the time-hopper's head, but her target was behind her in a flash of blue light. "Whoa-ho, temper!"

Tina growled and prepared to swing again, but Winston cleared his throat.

"Ahem," the gorilla began. "Tina…is it true that you don't have a place to stay?"

"That's bullshit!" Tina spat. "I have one! I made it myself!"

The once-quiet and observing Genji finally spoke up. "You built your own home?"

"Yeah," Tina nodded. "Got some plywood, an old mattress, little plastic on the roof. Sure, it's small, but I don't need anything fancy."

"And how do you eat?" Ana asked.

"There's a market near where I live, I just go and grab something."

"For three square meals a day?"

"I'm not stupid!" Tina balked. "If I keep showing up and pocketing something at the same times every day, someone's gonna notice, and then I won't get jack shit!"

"Hang on," Tracer raised a hand. "Are you trying to tell us you _steal_ your food?"

"You got a problem with that?" Tina growled. "You gonna tell me I should pay for it with money I can't get?"

The Overwatch crowd looked worriedly at one another for a moment. Winston dug through his back pockets for a moment, eventually pulling out a small jar of peanut butter.

"Um…would you like some?" he asked timidly. "I, uh…have a bit of a thing for peanut butter."

Tina blinked. No one in their right mind would take something edible offered by someone they considered an enemy. But, she hadn't eaten since she arrived in Hollywood this morning, and her stomach won out. She reluctantly approached Winston and took the offered peanut butter, dipping a finger in and sticking a colossal wad of the substance in her mouth.

"Mmm," she grunted through her mouthful. "Not bad. Shticky as hell, though."

"It's usually meant to go on something as only part of a meal, but I've taken to having it by itself," Winston chuckled. Tina dug through more of the peanut butter, and in seconds the full jar had gone down to about half. "So, uh, Tina..."

"Mmm?" The jar was almost completely depleted now.

"We have more food back at our base…and some full beds," Winston continued. "You could stay with us, if you like."

Tina stopped guzzling the peanut butter and abruptly threw the now-empty jar into Winston's face. "The hell I would, fuzzball!"

"What?" Tracer balked. "Why not?"

"I don't answer to you douchebags!" Tina snapped.

"She's under the impression that Overwatch ruined her life," Ana explained with a sigh. She then looked directly to the young street thief. "Tina, there's really no downside for you here. You get a place to sleep, you'll be surrounded by people who care about you—"

"You mean a bunch of stuck-up control freaks?" Tina snorted.

"Come on, love," Tracer added. "You're great in a fight, and we could use all the help we can get. Plus, we get to go to all sorts of neat places!"

Winston nodded. "Tina…we don't want to be your enemies. Whatever Overwatch did to you in the past, we want to make up for it. And, like Tracer said…we could use all the help we can get."

He extended a hand.

"What do you say?" Winston asked. "Are you with us?"

Tina wanted to say no. She wanted to club them all silly, move on to another exotic place, and never look back. But the peanut butter wasn't enough to satisfy her stomach, and its growl once again won out over her mind's voice of reason.

"Fine," she sighed. "But only for the food."

Ana smiled. "Come along, then."

* * *

Sombra's hands danced through the air of her quarters, holographic screens displaying various names and faces shifting and sliding about in time with her movements. Her cat-like grin grew as she poked at a few screens, pulling holographic cubes out of them and slipping the small shapes into other screens.

"So many targets, so little time," she smirked. A rough knock came from her door. "Come in."

Kaito pushed his way into the room, casually sitting on the side of her desk. "Yo."

"Hey," Sombra replied. "How was your latest Talon job?"

"Well, it was definitely interesting," the mercenary smirked. "Still got that package from King's Row, huh?"

Sombra's grin returned as she picked up the red-and-black box Kaito had given her in Calaveras. "Yep. And I know just what to do with it."

"Oh?"

"See…this is no ordinary Omnic brain," Sombra explained. "Talon tried an experimental new brain procedure a while back. They wanted an Omnic that worked for them, stoking up the fires between human and Omnic. So, they took some British kid off the street and transferred his consciousness into this baby right here."

As she spoke, she dragged a cylindrical device closer to her and slipped the Omnic brain into a slot on the top. Wires emerged from the device and inserted themselves into the brain. Kaito let out a low whistle.

"Sucks to be that kid," he remarked. "Doesn't explain what you want with it, though."

"Talon's under the impression that their little project is dead," Sombra grinned. "But I want to see what my new little friend here can do, once he's put in the right circumstances."

* * *

Darkness surrounded him.

Where was he? Shouldn't he be dead? And where were his killers? He tried to look down at himself, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even see. Everything around him was a void.

Then, as if on cue, that void was filled.

Holovids. Data. Websites. Files. Everything and more flooded into the darkness, filling it with light and dispelling the shadows. Somehow, his mind was _in_ the internet. He would question why later, for this was an opportunity with promise.

He still couldn't move, but he could think. And, now that he could see, that may have been all he needed.

A king's feast of information was served before him on a digital platter, but so much of it failed to stimulate his appetite. Political scandals? Boring. Private servers? Far from helpful. Bank accounts? Worthless. Memes? Occasionally amusing, but ultimately inconsequential.

Then he found an insignia he recognized: the logo of Helix Security International. They had unwittingly served him before. Why not again?

With a thought, he tried to pry open the file, but it remained ironed shut. He tried again, concentrating as hard as he could. The file wouldn't budge.

Rage filled him. This would not stand. The firewalls before him were just that: walls. And all walls broke if one hit them enough times.

Helix Security's secrets would be his again, no matter how long it took. Then, it would be onward to true justice.


	6. Chapter 6: Moving Forward

Chapter 6: Moving Forward

The very second his dropship returned to the base, Amos hurriedly brought Widowmaker to Talon's medical wing. Knowing how valuable she was to the organization's overall mission, the doctors immediately took her away for treatment. Amos heard nothing after that.

Hours passed. Dinnertime came, and Talon's medical staff left to get theirs. The unimportant among the patients—wounded grunts, other agents who didn't seem to be pulling their weight—would just have to suffer a little longer until their potential saviors were finished with their own affairs. With the doctors gone, however, Amos was able to slip into the medbay unnoticed.

And there she was.

Her bed was different from the rest of the sick and injured. The expendable soldiers were given the bare minimum in terms of comfort, but the influence brought about by Widowmaker's skills and service record evidently prompted a more humane level of treatment. She was tucked under clean sheets, one visible arm strapped to an IV, and a pan was visible beneath the bed.

At this moment, Widowmaker was asleep, nestled under her covers. And all Amos could do was stare at her; she was just so utterly _beautiful_. Her ponytail had been undone, allowing her ocean of hair to roll down her slender, curvaceous body. Even though her eyes were closed, Amos could still envision the gorgeous golden irises beneath them.

He took a few careful, quiet steps towards her, his heart thumping and mind wandering all the while. Widowmaker had been good to him, something Amos couldn't say about everyone. She could easily have just left him be, let him remain a sub-standard grunt for the rest of his life (however short or long it lasted). But she didn't. And the recognition she had shown him meant so much.

He wanted her to get better. He wanted to hear her voice again, her calm words and soothing accent that—even for just the tiniest moment—brushed away his constant fears. All of Amos' doubt, all of his belief that any attempt to be so close to her would be a stupid and suicidal idea, was buried under an all-consuming desire to just be near her in this time of need.

Widowmaker shifted and grunted. Amos froze like a statue, holding his breath until she settled back into slumber. He swallowed hard. He slowly reached out a hand.

Would it be okay if he gently touched her face, or maybe her hand? Would she wake up the second he made contact with her? What if she wasn't actually asleep? What if she was just lying in wait, ready to lash out at another fool grunt who tried something he shouldn't?

Amos stopped and gave his head a shake. He had to put his worries aside. The closest equivalent he had to a friend in Talon was right in front of him, and he had an opportunity to try and build a true bridge between the two of them. Whether she realized it or not, she had been there when he needed someone. Why would he not do the same for her?

Cold sweat soaked his face, making him very glad he was wearing gloves over his potentially-clammy hands. Amos slowly, carefully, reached out towards her. Maybe just a quick, tender squeeze of her hand would be okay? Just to let her know that someone still cared about her?

Widowmaker shifted again. Amos froze again, hand stuck in mid-reach.

"Mmh," she mumbled. "…Gérard…"

That name again.

The name of someone else who loved her. The name of someone else for whom she clearly cared. The name of someone else she dreamt of, even now.

Amos bit his lip as he quietly withdrew his hand. He fought back tears as he left the medbay, all the while commanding his aching heart to just be silent.

There was already someone special for her to lean on. He had no right to interfere with that.

* * *

He tried to push Widowmaker's visage out of his mind as he gathered up food for dinner. Much as he wished otherwise, her fate was out of his hands. He instead focused on telling himself the same things, over and over: that he _knew_ someone as attractive as her couldn't possibly be single, that he _knew_ that he was out of her league, and that he _knew_ that she was more likely to kill him than anything else. But, no matter how many times he faced the facts, not one of them ever dulled the pain.

Amos got a few stares as he slumped into an isolated chair, his tray of food clattering loudly on the table. He looked away from his food for a moment as he yanked his helmet off and dropped it on the table just as unceremoniously. With a sigh, he picked up a fork and prepared to dig in.

Then he noticed that a chunk of his meal seemed to be missing.

Amos blinked, but shrugged it off as he thrust his fork towards his dinner. His tray suddenly came to life, sliding to one side and causing his fork to prod the table. A suspicious expression crossed his brow, but he tried again. The tray moved again. Then he heard a giggle.

"Boop!"

A clawed finger came out of nowhere and playfully poked his nose. Amos yelped as the sudden sight sent him tumbling out of his chair and onto the floor, much to the amusement of both his peers and his now-visible assailant.

"Hey, there," Sombra smirked, swallowing the last of the food she had stolen. Amos' eyes went wide as he reached for his gun, but Sombra's hand quickly gripped his arm and hefted him to his feet. " _Ay_ , slow down there, Amos! I'm on _your_ side."

More suspicion came into Amos' eyes. "…s-sorry, have we met?"

"We have now," Sombra grinned. She pushed him back into his seat before slithering into the one across from him. "I finally have some free time, so I figured it was time we started hanging out. After all…I'm the one who brought you here to Talon."

"But…it was Reaper who showed up in my apartment and put the guns to my head," Amos said slowly, his suspicion now mixing with confusion.

"And who do you think hacked into Overwatch's systems to dig up your application?" Sombra asked. Amos paled slightly at her fountain of knowledge about him. "Who do you think got our resident edge-lord to quietly break into some nobody's apartment and grab a recruit who'll probably turn out to be 'okay' at best?"

Silence hovered over them. Dread permeated Amos' chest as he reached for his gun again. Before he could pull it out, however, his unexpected guest extended her hand with a curl of her fingers.

"Call me Sombra," she grinned.

"Wait— _you're_ Sombra?" Amos blinked. He didn't take her offered hand, so she withdrew it. "Talon's hacker?"

"What, were you expecting me to be taller?" Sombra quipped, leaning one elbow on the table.

"…sort of?" Amos admitted. "I mean, I've only heard your name dropped once in a while around here, and I've been here a few months and never saw you, so…"

"Aw, I'm not so big and scary," Sombra cooed. She conjured a cluster of small digital hexagons, then stated to absent-mindedly type them like a keyboard. "I'm just a girl looking for a few new friends. Like you."

"Uh…huh," Amos said slowly. Sombra narrowed her eyes at his obvious disbelief.

"Ugh, I had to pick the one with trust issues," she huffed. "Look, how you move up in the world doesn't depend on what you can do, it depends on who you know. And I needed to have someone around here who can, oh…let's say 'keep things lively'."

"And you picked _me_?" Amos raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, _amigo,_ have you _seen_ the clowns I have to work with?" Sombra groaned. "Reaper's a hardcase who sticks to his precious plans like glue, and don't even get me started on the stick shoved up Widowmaker's—"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Amos interrupted, holding up both hands.

"Aww, did I touch a nerve?" Sombra smirked. She typed her hexagons some more, and a holographic picture of Amos appeared next to them. "I hear she's taken a bit of a liking to you."

Her other hand swiped through his photo, and the image was quickly replaced with one of Amos alongside Tracer and Winston as the three stood within a factory. Amos' blood turned cold; that was when they had worked together to stop the mad Omnic months ago.

"I wonder how she'd feel," Sombra continued, "if she knew you had friends on the other side."

Amos was silent, his breathing steadily growing heavier. Sombra waved away her holographic keyboard.

"She might not see this little bit of security footage, though," she continued. "Not if you agree to do something for me."

Amos clenched his jaw. "What do you want?"

"You've been to Dorado, right?" Sombra asked. "First mission and everything? Some old friends of mine will be making a delivery there, and it'll need an escort. I can't ask the higher-ups, for obvious reasons…so now I come to you."

"Uh…last time I was on escort duty didn't go that well," Amos pointed out. "Partly because I was alone on the payload."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be bringing along another friend of mine for just that purpose," Sombra assured him. "And I hear my friends down in Dorado might need some medical help, too. So," she reached out her hand a third time, "partners?"

Amos sighed. He still didn't take her hand. "You say that like I have a choice."

" _Excellenté_! Glad we're on the same page," Sombra grinned. "I'll let you know when I can put together transportation. Then, we'll be in business."

She finally stood up, allowing Amos to sigh and pick up his fork again. Then Sombra suddenly reached across the table again.

"Boop!" she chirped, tapping his nose again. His free hand immediately went to the area she touched, but she only giggled. "See you later."

With that, she vanished into nothing before his eyes. Sombra was finally gone, but Amos still kept an eye out.

Out of Talon's operatives, he wasn't sure who he disliked more; Reaper and his callous aggression, or Sombra and her manipulative machinations.

* * *

Ana wore a sad smile as she stepped through the doors into Watchpoint Gibraltar. The old base was in obvious disrepair, with Winston's old escape pod dangling half-attached to the ceiling and a massive hole located in one of the upper windows. But those only made her smile more.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," she sighed. The old sniper looked around to her companions. "Nor did I think I'd see any of you again…how times have changed."

"Yeah, whatever," Tina rolled her eyes. "Just point me to the food. I'm starving."

" _The mess hall is three doors down and to the right_ ," a computerized voice replied.

Tina quickly pulled out her staff and looked around for the source of this voice.

"Don't worry, that's Athena," Winston chuckled. "She's an AI who helps out around here."

Tina narrowed her eyes, but put her staff away. "Just make sure your thing stays out of my hair."

With that, she shoved past Genji and Tracer and followed the directions Athena had provided. Tracer frowned, but Winston and Ana simply shook their heads with amusement.

"She certainly knows what she wants," Winston chuckled. "Anyway…things really have changed, and not necessarily for the better. That being said, it's great to see you again, Ana. Everyone was so certain you were dead."

"Yes, I've been getting that a lot lately," Ana hummed. "I was wounded, yes…in more ways than one. But I am alive. And I am willing to watch over you all, should you have need of me."

"It'd be a real honor to have you at our back, Cap!" Tracer grinned, springing into a salute.

"Oh, please, Lena," Ana chuckled. "I'm certainly not a captain anymore."

"If we are to bring Overwatch back, there is much for us to do," Genji pointed out. "And time is of the essence."

"Ah, how true," Ana sighed. "Winston, I take it you're in charge at this point? Bring me up to speed."

Winston nodded, clearing his throat.

"So," the gorilla began, "Athena and I put out the recall signal to all active Overwatch agents a few months ago. Unfortunately, uh, as you can see…we haven't gotten much of a response. Tracer came back right away—"

The former test pilot gave a quick two-fingered salute.

"—and we picked up Genji just a few days ago," Winston continued. The cyborg simply nodded. "It…seems to be just us right now, but we're hoping we can change that soon."

"Understood," Ana nodded. "May I make a suggestion for how we can begin to do that?"

"Of course," Winston nodded. "You don't have to ask, you know. You've always been our superior."

"But I've never been fond of leading, and you seem to be doing that job just fine," Ana smiled. "Anyway…perhaps we could look into recruiting the man we met in Hollywood?"

"Hang on—you mean Soldier 76?" Tracer raised an eyebrow. "All due respect, Cap, but isn't he a wanted criminal?"

"Technically, we _all_ are," Genji pointed out.

"And, having worked with him for a time, I can tell you that there's more to him than the things he's done," Ana added. "If we go through with this, I suggest we monitor the news feeds. If I know Soldier as well as I think I do, his activities are sure to be noticed."


	7. Chapter 7: Rules of Nature

**Hey, all. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, I've had a lot of stuff to do IRL (and also the Anniversary event is going on, so...there's that). The pace at which I upload chapters is going to be slowed for a bit while I get some things worked out, but until then, hope you enjoy this one.**

Chapter 7: Rules of Nature

"Back home," Sombra sighed whimsically as she glanced out the dropship window at a Dorado darkened by evening. "I should go drop by the bakery."

Several days had passed since Amos' first encounter with Sombra. Much to the grunt's chagrin, she had managed to commandeer one of Talon's ships for use in her personal agenda. Aiding her in achieving that agenda was Kaito, who seemed to be playing a game on his phone involving fruits and birds. Amos, however reluctantly, also had a hand in this private endeavor. Though he would rather be back at the Annecy base and by Widowmaker's side, he simply gritted his teeth and tried to make the best of a less-than-ideal situation.

"You're from Dorado?" Amos asked Sombra. She smirked; he had taken the bait.

"Born and raised. Well, for a while, anyway," Sombra replied. "I hear you've had an interesting first mission around here. They say you just suddenly went insane and shot up a house…but I think we _both_ know better than that."

Amos clenched his jaw again. Sombra conjured more of her holographic hexagons and began idly playing with them once more.

"To tell you the truth, I was never really fond of that Talon policy where they put their recruits through neural conditioning," she said. "It gets so _boring_ when all everyone around you ever thinks about is the base instincts. You know; killing, sex, eating, stuff like that?"

"Hey, it's a dog-eat-dog world in more ways than one," Kaito chuckled.

"Hang on," Amos blinked, looking to Sombra. "You're saying they didn't put you through the conditioning?"

"They needed my brain in one piece," Sombra answered. "Or so I'm told."

Amos snorted. "Lucky."

Sombra could only keep smirking. "How _did_ you break the brainwashing, anyway? I didn't peg you as someone with the willpower to pull that off."

"Oh, uh, it broke when I had a giant panic attack."

Sombra's smirk inverted itself. "Got a real gift for storytelling, huh?"

Kaito snickered, but Amos just shrugged. Knowing that he was going to Dorado made Amos think of the family he had encountered there, just as his conditioning broke. He was meant to kill them, eliminate the witnesses to Talon's operation…but he couldn't. So, with their aid, he faked their deaths, and everyone went on with their lives. At this point, Amos couldn't help but wonder how the family was doing now. He hoped they were doing all right.

And that they weren't _too_ upset about the damage his panicked shooting had caused to their house.

The dropship soon slowed its pace, and with a small lurch, came to a halt.

"Looks like we're here," Sombra remarked as she hopped to her feet. "Coordinates to my old friends are on your helmet's HUD."

"Wha—hang on, does that mean you're not coming on your own mission?" Amos sputtered.

"Girl's gotta get her pastries, and the bakery's not open forever," Sombra shrugged. "Tell them the shadow sent you, they'll know what it means. Oh, and here."

She handed the grunt a small disc-like device. Amos turned it over in his hand, noting a faint purple glow emanating from the center.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Just hold onto it for a while," Sombra told him. "Trust me, it'll come in handy later."

Amos raised a hand as if to ask her a question, but Sombra quickly vanished again.

"Great," he sighed as he clipped the disc onto his belt.

"Eh, I've had worse clients," Kaito shrugged. "Least she doesn't micromanage."

* * *

As it turned out, Sombra's "old friends" happened to make up the local Los Muertos chapter.

The gang had taken refuge in a network of alleys by the Misión Dorado, a protected historical site and prominent church. Their symbols and markings covered the walls, complete with their trademark Mardi Gras-style skull. Even their bodies bore skeletal tattoos and luminescent paints, both shining against the night like a firefly's light.

"Uh, excuse me?"

A dozen eyes turned to the skinny newcomer with the red-eyed skull helmet and his vagabond companion. Amos gave them a nervous but friendly wave. Kaito simply nodded.

"Hi, guys!" the Talon grunt greeted them, the thugs staring at his full uniform and occasionally looking to one another. "So, uh, my name's Amos—"

"You lost?" one of the thugs snorted.

"And people say we dress like it's Halloween all the time," another one added.

"Okay, okay—look!" Amos interrupted. "Does the phrase 'the shadow sent me' mean anything to you?"

The Los Muertos group paused. One of them stormed towards Amos.

"How do you know Sombra?!"

The thug found himself facing the glow of Kaito's spectral tiger paws.

"Might want to take a few steps back," the mercenary advised, allowing himself a bloodthirsty grin. "Or we'll see if your bones really do glow like that."

"All right, everybody slow down! Everybody _breathe_!" Amos chimed in, getting between Kaito and the thug and shoving them apart. "Look, my boss—well, _one_ of my bosses, I've got at least three at this point—told me you were delivering something somewhere. I mean, I don't know the details, since no one ever really tells me anything, but I—well, I was hoping you guys would know something, so…"

"We do," an Omnic decorated in Los Muertos's signature paint spoke up from the back. "We owe her that much."

"Right, boys and girls, our escort's finally here! Let's get that truck moving!" another thug called out.

The roar of an engine echoed through the alley, and Los Muertos' chosen beast of burden came to life. A blood red truck drifted out into the open, allowing several gang members to climb upon and into it. Amos glanced at the truck's rather bright package, and his jaw dropped.

In the back of the truck was a LumériCo-brand fusion core. The very device he had been sent to Dorado to steal, and the goal of that fateful mission where his conditioning had broken.

"Wait, hang on—where did you get that?!" Amos asked, yelling over the truck's engine as he gestured to the fusion core.

"From Sombra!" one Los Muertos thug replied.

Amos sighed. The longer he knew his latest superior, the less trustworthy he found her. She most certainly couldn't be giving back LumériCo's fusion core out of what little goodness there seemed to be in her black heart.

"GET DOWN!"

Something suddenly dropped out of the sky in front of the truck, triggering a small explosion that scattered the Los Muertos thugs and sent Amos tumbling into a wall. Kaito agilely flipped off of the same wall before landing back on the ground on all-fours, snarling like an animal. He glared up to the roof to find a masked figure looming over them.

"Scatter!" cried another Los Muertos member.

"You're not getting away," growled Soldier 76 from the rooftop. He tapped the side of his visor, causing a wide screen to emerge over his obscured eyes. "I've got you in my sights."

76 then opened fire with his rifle, aiming for the crosshair icons his visor placed over the thugs. One by one, the thugs fell to the dirt with a precise bullet wound in each of their painted skulls. Amos could barely breathe through his wide-eyed terror. This was not just simple vigilante activity. This was a slaughter.

Then the rifle whipped in his direction.

Amos yelped in fright as he rolled behind the truck and out of Soldier 76's sights, flattening himself against the door as his breathing finally caught up with him. He looked in Kaito's direction, but the red-haired mercenary was gone. Then the bullets stopped.

"Finish the job!" Kaito called from the rooftop as he wrestled with 76 over the latter's gun. "This walking stack of credits is mine!"

"Uh…sure," Amos blinked. Shaking Kaito's greedy priorities out of his head, he went over to the still-living of Los Muertos' thugs. "Hey. Hey, take it easy. I'm a medic, okay? I'm going to get you patched up. Just stay with me, all right? Just breathe."

* * *

Soldier 76 vaulted off the rooftop, rolling across an awning and planting his feet on the street. Kaito pursued, tiger paws outstretched as he flung himself straight from the roof to the pavement. The mercenary grinned as he rose to his feet, flexing his claws.

"So…Soldier 76, huh?" Kaito said. "Hear you got one hell of a price on your head."

"You're not the first joker who thinks he can claim it," 76 snorted. "And you won't be the last."

The old soldier let loose with his rifle once more, but Kaito's paws shielded him from the assault. With a primal grunt, Kaito charged his body with the yellow aura and shooting himself into the air, the paws vanishing as his wrist-mounted tubes rained bullets of light down on Soldier 76. The vigilante retreated for a moment, Kaito's strange bullets punching holes in his wake, before leaping into the air and simultaneously doing an about-face. A trio of small rockets burst from 76's rifle and barreled directly towards Kaito, knocking the mercenary out of the air in an instant.

The red-haired man landed limply on the ground with a sickening thud. Despite taking a supposedly lethal blow, however, Kaito slowly pushed himself to his feet. A faint yellow glow overtook his body, closing his wounds as he wiped the blood off his lip.

"Heh…not bad, old man," Kaito snickered, cracking his neck. "Gonna make me work for my paycheck."

"That's all this is about for you?" Soldier 76 grunted. "Money?"

"Money," Kaito replied with a Cheshire grin. "The DNA of modern society. And cashing you in ought to make me a ton of it."

His tiger paws returned as he took a step forward, but then a dart lodged itself in his shoulder.

"Ugh, what?" Kaito sputtered as he quickly ripped the dart out and crushed it in his hands. "Who the—"

The answer came from behind Soldier 76. Ana lowered her rifle, loading another set of her darts inside. Genji gripped the hilt of his blade tightly. Tina folded her arms and frowned. Winston pushed up his glasses. Tracer smiled one of her famous smiles as she put her hands on her hips.

"Cheers, love! The cavalry's here!" the time-hopper declared.

Tina shot her a condescending glare. "Do you seriously say that every time?"

"What's wrong with that?" Tracer asked.

"It's stupid."

"What? Do you have something better?"

"No, but that doesn't make it less stupid," Tina snorted. "Who says you even need a catch phrase, anyway?"

"Children, behave!" Ana snapped. "We have a job to do!"

Kaito frowned at the increased opposition before glancing to Soldier 76. "I'll cash you in later."

He turned to flee, and leapt upon the rooftops.

"He's getting away again!" Tracer cried.

"He will not," Genji growled. The cyborg sped after Kaito, scrambling in pursuit of the mercenary.

Meanwhile, Soldier 76 turned to the group. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here for you," Ana began. "You're right; we both want the same thing. And you don't have to fight this war alone."

The masked soldier paused for a moment.

"I think I can see where you're going with this," he said. "You want me to join up with you."

"Well, you're…admittedly not our first choice," Winston spoke up. "But we need all the help we can get to bring back Overwatch."

"Hmph…'bring back Overwatch'," 76 scoffed. "What's the point?"

"Why don't you ask yourself that?" Ana retorted. "After all, you're the one who's been fighting a one-man war against the very things Overwatch warred against."

"Yeah…old habits die hard," 76 sighed. "But, just because we fight for the same things doesn't mean we should team up."

"Fine by me," Tina snorted.

"Figured you'd say that," 76 growled, though Ana detected a hint of a chuckle in his words. "I want to see what LumériCo's been up to. If you all want to play soldier, fine. Just stay out of my way."

The old soldier turned and left. Tina stuck her tongue out at his departing back, throwing in a rude gesture for good measure.

"Tina," Ana admonished, prompting the girl to snort in rebellion. The elderly sniper simply sighed. "Well…this was worth a try, at least."

"So, what now, Cap?" Tracer asked.

"That's not for me to decide," Ana shook her head. "Winston?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, right," the gorilla mumbled before taking a moment to clear his throat. "Well, uh…we saw Soldier 76 being chased by that mercenary from Hollywood. Talon clearly has an interest in this area, so while we're here, it may be a good idea to investigate."

"Agreed," Ana nodded. "Let's get going."

* * *

With feline agility, Kaito leapt from roof to roof in search of Los Muertos' truck. Now that the secondary revenue was out of the question, there was no reason to not focus on the primary job…provided Sombra would actually provide payment this time. He stopped on one roof across from the ziggurat-like structure that was the LumériCo building, casually crouching at the roof's edge.

Down on the street below, he found his target. Los Muertos' thugs pressed on, with Amos (rather reluctantly) riding in the back. Kaito shrugged and stood up, but froze when he heard a metallic clank behind him.

"Kaito!"

The mercenary grinned in delight.

"Genji," he replied as he turned around. "Fancy meeting you here, huh?"

Overwatch's cyborg ninja displayed a fistful of shuriken for a moment, then withdrew them. "Why are you doing this, Kaito? Why have you turned your back on your honor?"

"Are you serious?" Kaito snorted. "Come on, you of all people should understand."

"Enlighten me."

Kaito snorted again, but this time with a hint of laughter. He then plucked a credit chip out of his pocket and idly turned it over across his fingers.

"Remember the old days, when you and I were just the black sheep of Japan's two top crime families?" the mercenary began. He flipped the chip into the air and caught it in his hand, stuffing it back into his pocket. "My family took every chance they could to get an edge over yours: black market dealings, top-of-the-line weaponry…"

Genji tilted his head, studying the red-haired man. Kaito flicked his wrist, sending a wave of energy down his arm and forming one of his tiger paws.

"Even taking a page out of your own book, namely the one where you figured out how to manifest spiritual energy into a physical form," Kaito continued with a smirk. He flicked his hand again, dismissing the paw. "But it didn't matter what we did. When the Shimadas and Umikuros went toe-to-toe, it was always the Shimadas that came out on top. Even on the last day."

"What do you mean?" Genji asked.

"What, your big brother didn't brag about it?" Kaito guffawed. "He led one last strike to take over my family's part of town. And the Umikuro clan fought to the last man—well, with one obvious exception," he added with a snicker.

"You fled?" Genji balked. "You ran away from the battle?"

"I got out while I was ahead," Kaito corrected him. "The survivors had a chance to buy their lives when the Shimadas were taking prisoners…but they all decided they'd rather die than dirty their precious 'honor'."

Genji paused. "You're…the last member of your family."

"This black sheep rides alone now," Kaito chuckled.

"But, your family is _dead_ , Kaito! You should honor—"

"Are you actually _serious_ right now?!" Kaito threw up his hands. "Your family stabbed you in the back, you're playing the tin-plated lap dog to a dead organization, and you're actually telling me that all you can think about is your ' _honor_ '?! We're in the twenty-first century, Genji! The world's moved past all those archaic concepts our families loved so damn much! You and I, we could be the wave of the future! I mean, really, what good has that 'honor' done you, anyway? Got you put in a big soup can, is what it did!"

Throughout Kaito's tirade, Genji had calmly placed his hands together in a meditative gesture. Slowly, the cyborg wiped the anger from his mind. He cast his thoughts back to the snowy mountains of Nepal, to the time he spent with his master and the other Shambali monks. Then, after a moment to find his tranquility, he pulled his mind back to the rooftop.

" _Mi o sutete mo…myōri wa sutezu_ ," Genji said simply

Kaito gave him a dumbfounded look. "Did you _actually_ just tell me that even if you sacrifice your body, you'll never sacrifice your honor?"

Genji nodded. His greedy rival spat a disgusted wad of spit on the ground.

" _Baka,_ " Kaito grunted. "Guess it has to be this way."

He gripped his ragged shirt and abruptly tore it off, revealing a sight that made Genji gasp. Kaito's body was covered in a crisscrossing network of tubes, each one weaving in and out of his flesh and all emanating from a central dial over the man's heart. Much like how Tracer's chronal accelerator emitted a blue glow, a yellow light radiated from the dial of Kaito's exoskeleton.

"What…is that?" Genji gaped.

"The best black market cybernetics money can buy," Kaito grinned.

Genji balked. "You did this to _yourself_?"

"Gotta beat out the competition somehow," Kaito shrugged. The dial glowed as his tiger paws took shape once more. "Come on. Let's go."

Genji's shuriken slid back between his fingers as a roaring Kaito charged at him, paws outstretched. The ninja from Overwatch slid aside and ran across a wall, countering Kaito's assault with a small slew of shuriken. The mercenary ninja, however, simply swatted them aside, soon exchanging his tiger paws for the two wrist-mounted tubes.

"Can't fight the rules of nature, Genji!" Kaito called as he opened fire, bullets of light chasing the cyborg. "You don't get ahead in life by helping old ladies across the street!"

His metallic prey finally drew his sword, the phantasmal green dragon leaping from the blade's edge. Kaito grinned as his tiger paws rematerialized.

With cries of righteous fury and primal glee, the two ninja charged.

* * *

It was much quieter on Los Muertos' payload.

The gang, Amos in tow, had taken something of a tour around the city of Dorado. They passed through the marketplace, drove by a rather imposing statue of LumériCo CEO Guillermo Portero, and eventually found themselves forcing their way inside LumériCo's power plant. The thugs of Los Muertos left a slew of wounded security guards in their wake as the truck hovered inside. None of them noticed Amos surreptitiously leaving behind a few of his unique bandages for the guards to use.

"Almost there," the lead thug grinned.

"Finally," Amos sighed. "I don't know about you guys, but I'll be glad to get this done with."

"Aw, don't want to stick around for the light show?" one of the other Los Muertos members asked.

"…do I even want to know what you're talking about?" Amos slowly asked.

"Sombra didn't tell you?"

" _Nobody_ tells me the details of the missions I'm stuck on."

A couple thugs scoffed, but the Omnic among them put one hand on the fusion core.

"She rigged the power core to leave a surprise for the company," he explained. "It'll upload a virus into their systems once it's installed."

"Not getting cold feet, are you?" the lead thug sneered at Amos.

The Talon grunt simply shrugged. A virus in a company's systems was at least marginally better than a bomb. There would still be people in Mexico who would be devoid of electricity thanks to Sombra's scheme, but—as far as Amos could reason—that was a fate better than death. Besides, trying to avert the payload now would bring a cadre of heavily-armed and vicious gang members down upon him, and his inevitable demise afterward would help no one.

Then a blue light whizzed by him.

 _Oh, no,_ Amos thought, a chill trickling down his spine. _Not now, please…_

His fears were made manifest when Tracer herself appeared on top of the truck's roof, pistols flipping out of her gauntlets and into her hands.

"Heya!" she chirped at the Los Muertos members before her.

The lead thug just snarled. "Kill her!"

His associates raised their weapons, but Tracer was already gone. A few seconds later, she reappeared in the same place she had been standing.

"Heya!" she grinned. She paused for a second. "Ever get that feeling of _déjà vu_?"

As Tracer and Los Muertos occupied one another, Amos quietly slipped off the payload and crept away. The last thing he wanted was for the time-hopper to confront him. What was he going to say to her? How would he hide their meeting from Widowmaker…or, for that matter, Sombra? Where even _was_ Sombra, anyway?

A massive shape soared overhead as Winston joined the fray, swatting Los Muertos' thugs off the payload. Amos gulped; how many more were there?

"Sup?"

Amos sprang about ten feet in the air, whipping out his gun once he had mentally landed. His panic saw him pulling his weapon on Tina.

"Oh! Uh…sorry," the Talon grunt mumbled as he holstered his weapon.

"Might want to lay off the coffee, dude," Tina suggested.

"I don't do coffee. Or sugar," Amos sighed. "I think you can guess how much I need it."

"Yeah, really," the girl from Ilios snickered. "What was your name again?"

"Uh…Amos."

"Oh, yeah, that guy from Detroit. And a lot of other places."

"Yeah," Amos sighed. "I, uh…I get around. You were—what was it, now—Tina, right?"

"Yep," the thief said nonchalantly as she idly twirled her staff in her hand.

"So…if you don't mind my asking, how did you get here?" Amos ventured.

"With those douchebags," Tina grunted, jabbing her staff at Tracer and Winston. "You?"

"Got a new boss," Amos sighed. "She likes blackmail, so I'm here doing her dirty work."

"Wow, she sounds like a prick," Tina frowned. "I found a cactus in someone's window 'round here. You want me to shove it up her—"

"Oi, Tina!" Tracer suddenly stopped in front of the two. "Want to help us fi—"

She trailed off when her eyes fell on the Talon grunt before her.

"Amos?" Tracer's eyes went as wide as her smile.

"Uh—no!" Amos blurted in a hilariously phony voice, backing away from the two women. "No, this is _not_ the grunt you're looking for! This grunt is actually really busy and—HOLY CRAP, A SHOOTING STAR!"

Tina was the only one who turned to look, but that was all Amos needed to abruptly sprint in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, he didn't get very far before Tracer blinked in front of him.

"Come on, you know there's no need to run from us!" she laughed. "What are you doing here, though? Did Talon send you?"

"…sort of?" Amos said nervously. "It's kind of a long story, but—"

Just then, the disc Sombra had given Amos—still attached to his belt—began to release a purple glow from its center. The glow became steadily brighter, and seconds later a flash of byzantine light burst from the disc. The light quickly took a humanoid shape as it landed on the floor, and soon formed into a familiar figure.

" _¿Qué onda?_ " Sombra greeted as she stuffed the last bits of a churro into her mouth. "How's the payload?"

"Wha—Sombra? But you—you just—how did you—what?" Amos sputtered.

"Let me guess," Tina growled, holding up her staff in an aggressive posture. "This is your new boss?"

"Yeah…pretty much," Amos sighed. "Everyone, this is Sombra. Sombra, this is everyone."

Sombra ignored them as she looked to the truck, finding Winston battling Los Muertos as others of its number occasionally fell from what seemed to be Ana's darts. "I'm guessing there's no chance we can take care of this quietly, is there?"

"Not a one," Tracer said, a hateful grimace suddenly dominating her mouth as she drew her pistols on Sombra. "Amos works for you, right? So, that means you work with Talon."

"Figure that one out all by yourself?" Sombra snorted, adding fuel to Tracer's fire. She slipped her hand behind her back, and the second she brought it forward, a submachine gun materialized in her hand. " _¡Asústame, panteón!_ "

Amos raised a hand to say something, but Tracer was already firing on Sombra. Talon's hacker rolled aside, spraying bullets from her own gun as she went. Not one to be outdone (least of all by a member of Overwatch), Tina pole-vaulted in Sombra's direction, only for Amos' latest superior to kick her away with surprising agility.

"I know kung fu," Sombra quipped, picking another disc off of her belt and throwing it into an upper-level hallway.

"Don't think I don't recognize that device!" Tracer snapped. "I know you stole it!"

Amos blinked and raised his hand again. "Uh…did I miss something?"

"Winston's computer systems were hacked a while back, by someone who really likes purple pixels," Tracer explained, glancing at the Talon grunt for a split-second before turning an unusually steely gaze towards Sombra. "That someone downloaded a copy of the plans for my chronal accelerator."

"What can I say?" Sombra shrugged. "A girl's got to have the latest tech."

"Have this, bitch!" Tina roared as she came in swinging, only for Sombra to suddenly vanish again. The hacker soon reappeared atop the disc she had discarded, now lording over the group from the safety of the upper level.

"You know, sometimes I feel a little sick after using my translocator," Sombra said, holding up another of her discs for all to see. "I'm sure you know what I mean, Tracer."

"Wouldn't be a problem if you just disappeared forever!" Tracer snapped.

That gave Amos pause. Tracer's words sounded harsher than he thought even Sombra deserved, but before he could bring this up, Tracer had blinked up a wall and into the hacker's hallway. The two women exchanged fire for a moment, Tracer attempting to chase the fleeing Sombra all the while.

"Kaito, where are you?" Sombra snapped into her earpiece. "We're getting pinned down over here!"

The only response she received was Tracer's sudden blinking in front of her and lashing out with a kick. Sombra flipped backwards to avoid it, the two transitioning into a flurry of hand-to-hand combat at this point. On the ground floor, Tina huffed in frustration as she quickly stormed off to find some stairs.

"Tina, wait! I—hold on a sec!" Amos tried, but she was already gone. He heaved a dejected sigh. Why was he always the one getting left behind?

Meanwhile, one of Sombra's translocators landed atop the truck, its owner appearing atop it shortly afterward. The very sight of her sent the remaining Los Muertos members into an elated frenzy, some of them even leaving their engagement with Winston.

"Sombra!"

" _¿Qué pasa?_ "

"Where you been, _amiga_?!"

"Aw, I missed you guys, too," Sombra laughed. "That new job I told you about? Way too many hours. But, don't worry, this one's all me."

More shouts of approval came from her old gang. Unfortunately, their distraction allowed Winston to shove through them and towards Sombra.

"Coming through!" he grunted as he lunged, his target slipping off the truck and out of his reach. She replied by opening fire, forcing Winston to use his armored shoulders as shields.

"A little help would be appreciated!" Sombra snapped in Amos' direction.

"Uh—"

"Amos!" Tracer exclaimed, suddenly appearing by the grunt's side. "You know you don't have to do this!"

Amos clenched his jaw. He could feel a mountain forming on his shoulders.

"Amos!" Sombra cried as she dodged Winston's latest strike with a quick translocation. "Come on!"

Tracer put a firm hand on his arm. "Do the right thing, love. I know you can do it."

The mountain's weight multiplied exponentially. Helping Sombra would get him back to Widowmaker, but he would lose Tracer and Winston's friendship. Helping Tracer and Winston would keep him on good terms with them, but would bar him from Widowmaker. Running away would help no one, even himself. Amos's jaw clenched hard enough for him to feel every indentation in his teeth. The pace of his breathing picked up.

Then Kaito fell into the fray, rolling aside and exchanging shots with a pursuing Genji.

"Sorry I'm late, was catching up with an old friend!" Kaito quipped. "What did I miss?"

"Oh, the usual!" Sombra replied as she flipped off the payload and away from Winston. "Trade partners?"

"Sure, why not?" Kaito shrugged, and with another spiritually-charged leap, tackled Winston to the floor.

Sombra turned her submachine gun on Genji, but before she could fire, a sneaker and its screaming owner collided with her and sent her tumbling across the floor.

"Want some more, Smugbra?!" Tina sneered.

A snarl took the place of Sombra's usual confident smirk as she sprang to her feet. With another quick translocation, she was back atop the payload. This time, however, a purple glow began to emanate from the lining of her coat. Then, as if lifted by invisible strings, the hacker slowly levitated into the air.

"Sombra!" cried one of her Los Muertos friends. " _¿Qué haces?_ "

Sombra's looked to him with a grin that would have made the Cheshire cat himself proud. " _¡Apagando las luces!_ "

She threw her arms wide, somehow launching a wave of purple energy that rippled throughout the building. Every light the wave passed darkened in an instant. Electronic security doors were unlocked. In seconds, every electrical device in the building had stopped working. The ones with screens now displayed a stylized purple skull, evidently Sombra's calling card.

Only the glow of the Los Muertos tattoos provided illumination, but each source was quickly making itself scarce. A few moments later, the emergency power kicked in. The lights came back on, almost blinding Amos in their intensity. Los Muertos had fled, taking their fallen with them.

But what worried Amos was that Sombra and Kaito had fled, too. Without him.

"Uh, Sombra?" Amos said into his communicator. "Where did you go? Why am I still here?"

" _Oh, sorry about that,_ " Sombra said rather flatly. " _Had to make a quick exit, you know? Don't worry, you'll figure something out._ "

"Wha—you're just going to leave me here?!"

" _Rules of nature, kid,_ " Kaito added. " _Can't keep up, you get left behind._ "

The line cut off. Amos' blood ran cold. He swallowed hard.

"What was that all about?" Tina asked him. "Did you just say they left you behind?"

Amos slowly nodded, lip quivering in terror.

"Remind me to even out that bitch's baldness for her," Tina snorted disgustedly.

"Hey, you okay?" Tracer asked, noticing Amos' shivering hands.

"No! I just got abandoned!" he cried. "And—and I—I-I need to be at Talon's sick bay! There's—"

Then Ana Amari came in. Amos recognized her immediately; she was the woman who had put Widowmaker in the sick bay to begin with. He clammed up with a whimper.

"Well," Ana said. "Seems we have a guest tonight."

Amos quickly reached for his smoke bomb, but his eyes met the barrel of Ana's rifle before he could grab it.

"No sudden moves," she said. "Or you find out first-hand what these darts can really do."

A flash of anger brushed some of Amos' fear away. "What if I've already seen that?"

"Then you won't want to resist."

"Cap, hold on!" Tracer held up her hands. "Winston and I, we met this guy before! He's not like the rest of Talon!"

Ana raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Winston cleared his throat. "Tracer and I had some assistance when we fought that Omnic a few months ago. Tina was part of our support, along with the superhero Thunderstrike. And—as hard as it might be to believe—so was this Talon grunt."

Amos gulped. At this point, he had no choice but to place his life in Tracer and Winston's hands. And he somehow doubted that the elderly sniper would be willing to listen.

"He's our friend!" Tracer added, throwing her arm around Amos' shoulders. She then looked directly at him. "Right, Amos?"

"Y-yeah…we're okay," Amos said timidly.

Ana pursed her lips in thought for a moment.

"Hag, if I see you pull that trigger one time—" Tina began, but Ana sent her a sharp look.

"Shh, the adults are talking," the sniper interrupted. Without waiting for another of Tina's indignant responses, Ana looked to her comrades. "We've been infiltrated before, by someone we didn't think was a threat. How can we be sure this one is really what you say he is?"

"He is no threat," Genji spoke up. "I, too, have encountered him before. He is rather poor in a fight, especially when outnumbered. And he is also very clingy with his superiors."

Amos was tempted to argue, but thought better of it given his situation.

"Hmm…I can certainly believe the second of those points," Ana hummed. Amos' temptation to argue grew a bit stronger. "Winston, you're the one in command. What do you suggest we do with this out-of-place soldier?"

"Well," Winston began, adjusting his glasses. "I say we give him a chance to be one of us. If extra security would make you feel better, we'll put him on a probationary period. But, we're not going to treat him like our enemy."

Ana sighed, finally lowering her rifle. "I'm still not sure about this, but it's your call."

"I can assure you, Amos here is no threat to any of us," Winston said. "Now, let's bring him home."

Tracer's smile couldn't be wider as she led Amos along, following Winston and the others as they made their way back to their ship. The fidgety Talon grunt, however, spent half of his time trying to avoid the wary glares from Ana and Genji. The other half was spent worrying. What was going to happen to him now? What if Genji and Ana decide that they've had enough of him only a few minutes later?

And what would Widowmaker think if she could see him now?


	8. Chapter 8: Behind Enemy Lines

Chapter 8: Behind Enemy Lines

Amos had been silent throughout most of the ride out of Dorado. Genji and Ana still regarded him with suspicious stares. Tina sat by his side, as if acting as his bodyguard. Winston, due to the seats being smaller than his frame would allow, remained on the floor. Tracer couldn't stop beaming in the pilot seat, clearly still thrilled at the news of Amos' "defection" to Overwatch.

"You're gonna be great, love!" she called back to him. "We're gonna be the best team with you on our side!"

The former Talon grunt only hugged himself tightly, clutching a parachute pack in his arms.

"You know, you may not need that," Winston chuckled.

"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't her first flight literally vanish from existence?" Amos asked, nodding over to Tracer.

"Wait, _what_?!" Tina balked.

"How do you know about the Silpstream incident?" Ana demanded, turning her one-eyed scowl on Amos.

"Tracer and I told him some things about ourselves when we first met him in Egypt," Winston answered.

"Had to get him to open up somehow!" the former test pilot added from the cockpit.

"Screw all of that! I need a parachute, too!" Tina cried. Most of the crew, sans Amos, only chuckled in response. "Yo, I'm serious here!"

The laughter continued, much to Tina's frustration. Amos simply remained quiet, still holding on to his parachute like a child would a teddy bear. Eventually, after what felt like eons, the ship touched down with a lurch.

"There we go!" Tracer said as she stepped out of the pilot's seat. "See? Everything's under control."

Amos heaved a sigh of relief, finally putting his parachute back on its wall hook. The doors opened, and the crew began to disembark. As they made their way to the base that would be Amos' new home, the ex-Talon grunt stuck close to Winston, hoping the gorilla's powerful size would serve as some form of protection.

"So…what's it like here?" Amos looked to Tina.

"Boring," she grunted. "They mostly just sit around waiting for the fuzzball's satellites to find something happening. And, if you don't make like a sheep and join them in waiting around, you get lectured like a little kid."

"It's just how things are here, Tina," Ana mentioned. "You're one of us. You can't act as an independent anymore."

"Watch me, hag," the street urchin sneered, pulling a face at her elder.

Ana sighed, but the group nonetheless carried on. Eventually, they came upon a massive set of doors built into the rock face.

"Athena?" Winston called. "We're home."

" _Acknowledged,_ " the voice of his AI replied, and the rusted doors parted with a long creak. Winston smiled as he turned to Amos.

"Welcome," the gorilla said, "to Watchpoint Gibraltar."

Amos peered inside as the rest of the group filed in. He had once dreamed of sparkling walls and boisterous activity, men and women in uniform dashing to and fro to embark on their missions and save countless lives.

It looked nothing like that now.

The facility was in obvious disrepair. In addition to Winston's dangling escape pod and the broken window, Amos could see a lonely ladder standing by the wall and empty peanut butter jars strewn everywhere. He knew that Reaper had attacked this Watchpoint with a battalion of Talon grunts some time ago, so it was natural to expect some lingering damage from that. But, what he saw here was something else entirely.

"What's up, love?" Tracer asked him.

"Huh? Oh…well, it's just that…I've always wanted to come here," Amos said, pausing long enough to look down at his Talon uniform. "Just never thought it'd be like this."

"Ah, don't worry about it," Tracer lightly punched his shoulder. "Might not look like much now, but we'll be back at full strength in no time at all!"

"I agree, things are going well," Winston nodded. "But, first, it's time for dinner."

"Wait, what?" Amos did a double-take.

"It was eleven-o'-clock at night in Mexico when we picked you up," Ana explained. "It took us several hours to get here from there, and the time zone here in Spain is six hours ahead."

"Oh…right…time zones," Amos blinked. "Well, not sure I got a full dinner before I went to Dorado, anyway."

* * *

Overwatch's mess hall was just as low-maintenance as its foyer. There were a number of medium-sized tables, each bearing a small cluster of chairs, and there was a sizeable communal refrigerator that Tracer periodically restocked (provided that Tina didn't sneak in some stolen additions of her own). Beyond the basic kitchen assets, however, there was very little to speak of.

The Watchpoint's residents served food to themselves in an orderly fashion (with the exception of Tina who cut in line to get hers). Upon reaching his place in line, Amos procured his dish of choice from the fridge, spent a few minutes reheating it in the microwave, and then found himself a table. Tracer followed suit with her own meal, but stopped when she turned around.

Ana had pulled Tina to a table where the two could sit together. Genji was nowhere to be found, likely due to the unusual nature of his body. But, despite the opportunity to make new friends, Amos had chosen an isolated table on the far side of the room. He had already taken his helmet off and began to eat.

With a determined look, Tracer blinked straight into a chair beside him, plate of food somehow still in hand.

"Hiya!" she chirped. Amos nearly sprang out of his chair, but calmed himself when he realized who had suddenly barged in.

"Oh…hi, Tracer," he sighed.

"You know, you don't have to use my callsign all the time," the British hero pointed out. "We're friends, right? Plus, we're not in the field."

"Yeah, but…I don't feel right using your real name," Amos shrugged.

"Hey, no worries," Tracer said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable here."

He gave her a small smile, then continued to eat. A brief silence hovered over them, but Tracer was determined to chase it away.

"So…how are you doing so far?" she asked.

Amos mulled over his answer for a moment. "I don't know yet. Pretty sure you and Winston are the only ones who want me around, though. Maybe Tina, too, but I don't really know her that well."

"Ah, Genji and Ana won't hurt you!" Tracer assured him. "Not if me and the big guy have anything to say about it!"

"If you say so," Amos shrugged.

"Trust me, you'll have a great time here," Tracer said cheerfully as she shoveled in a rather massive mouthful of food. "Ull bu bwi unt!"

Amos gave her a funny look. Tracer held up a "wait a minute" finger and finally swallowed her food.

"I said 'you'll be brilliant'," Tracer giggled.

"Hello," Winston said as he also approached the table. "Mind if I join you two?"

"Not at all, Winston!" Tracer grinned.

The gorilla took his place by the table, bringing forth several jars of peanut butter.

"Um…" Amos trailed off at the sight.

"Oh, this?" Winston looked down at his choice of food and chuckled bashfully. "A side-effect of my genetic therapy is, uh…a thing for peanut butter."

"By itself?" Amos blinked.

"Sometimes on bananas."

"It's mostly by itself," Tracer added, her grin gaining a hint of mischief.

"Aw, come on, I don't need you giving me grief for it, too," Winston groaned. "Athena does that enough as it is."

"Who?" Amos asked.

"Oh, Athena's an AI that helps run the base," Winston explained. "And also my long-time companion, of sorts."

The breakfast went on in a similar fashion. Tracer took up most of the conversation, while Winston added in some scattered statements. After getting over the initial confusion at his hosts' quirks, Amos spent the majority of the time eating in silence and speaking primarily when spoken to, an action he found rather easy with Tracer around.

"So, then I realized I left Winston's extra peanut butter in Reinhardt's helmet, and he was trying to pull it off, but it just wouldn't budge! And Torbjӧrn laughed and laughed!" the British woman snickered at her own anecdote. "That was a good one!"

Winston threw in a chuckle of his own as he devoured the contents of his latest peanut butter jar. Amos gave a single, half-sincere laugh through a closed mouth as he neared the completion of his plate. Tracer frowned for a split-second before speaking up again.

"What about you, love?" she asked Amos. "Got any fun stories to share?"

"Mmm," Amos mumbled as he swallowed some food. "Not really. Talon's not much for messing around, but, uh, I think most of us knew that already."

"Well, then…what do you do for fun?" Tracer asked.

"Um…sometimes I read. Sometimes I tweak my gear. Sometimes I practice my aim—it never actually seems to get better, though—and…well, that's about it, really," Amos shrugged. "I'm just…not exciting."

"That's fine," Winston waved a hand with a smile. "Overwatch is a collection of soldiers, scientists, adventurers, and oddities. We're all a little different."

"Yeah…I guess so," Amos shrugged again.

"Ooh, by the way," Tracer interjected, "how do you like the food?"

"It's not bad," Amos looked down at it. "Think I made something like this once or twice, so it's familiar, at least."

"You can cook?" Tracer gasped.

"Well, it's cheaper than ordering pizza and takeout all the time," Amos shrugged for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, that's wicked!" Tracer grinned. "You've gotta make us something sometime!"

"Can I not?" Amos sighed.

"Aw, why not?" Tracer pouted. "I bet it'll taste great! Plus, Ana deserves a break from doing the cooking now and then, so you'd be perfect!"

"It's really not going to be something out of a five-star restaurant," Amos mumbled.

"I'm sure it'll at least be healthier for us than my usual diet," Winston added with a smile.

"I mean…no offense, but that's kind of a given," Amos replied. His eyes scanned the area for a change of subject, and found one in the form of a fuming Tina imprisoned at Ana's table. "You think Tina's okay?"

"She's always in a mood," Tracer answered with a dismissive frown.

"She's probably still trying to adjust to being in Overwatch custody," Winston added. "She _has_ been living on the streets for who-knows-how-long."

Amos paused, suddenly feeling significantly less hungry. "Really?"

"Yeah, she says she lived in a homemade shack in Ilios," Tracer nodded. "See, around seven or eight years ago, there was this guy in Greece who used a bunch of kids he adopted to steal art for him. Tina was one of them, and they all got sorted into foster homes when Overwatch took the mastermind down. But, then she ran away from home and went right back to stealing."

"Did she ever say why?" Amos asked, finding more reason to poke at his food than eat it.

"She called her adopted family 'control freaks' and…similar, less polite words," Winston said.

"She really needs to get a grip," Tracer shook her head. "Even if the people she was placed with weren't trying to help her, she could have at least given them a chance."

"…I don't know," Amos mumbled after a moment. "Not everyone can get along with their families."

Tracer froze for a second as her misstep dawned on her, but she recovered quickly.

"Well, we're all a family here!" she smiled.

"That's right!" Winston added with a grin of his own. "Every family has its hurdles to get through, but we will. And…if I may say so, we're glad to have you along, Amos."

Amos said nothing as he carefully slipped a smaller piece of his meal into his mouth. The only real response he gave was yet another shrug. Tracer and Winston had been good to him thus far, so it was only fair he gave them the chance they asked for.

"So!" Tracer clapped her hands together. "When we're done here, how about I give you the grand tour? Get you settled in?"

"Works for me," Amos shrugged yet again. If he was going to be staying here, he may as well know the lay of the land.

* * *

Tracer practically dragged Amos throughout the base, showing him significantly more than he thought pertinent to him or whatever duties he would have on the base. The two zig-zagged from the mess hall to the meeting room to the shooting range and then to whatever other area popped into Tracer's energetic mind. Miraculously, she had managed to keep her usual high level of pep throughout the tour. Amos, however, eventually felt himself slowing down and losing the ability to pay close attention.

"And, last but not least…the barracks!" Tracer announced, showing Amos a hallway of doors. She turned her head towards him in search of a reaction, but found her friend struggling to keep up. "Tired, love?"

"Yeah," Amos said groggily, rubbing his neck as his eyelids grew heavier. "Think jet lag's finally kicking in."

"Don't worry about it," the British woman giggled. "Oh, let me show you your room! There's an empty one right across from mine, so you can give me a shout if you need anything."

Amos nodded drunkenly as Tracer aimed him in the direction of a room and guided him in. Once he was safely inside, Amos yanked off his helmet and released a pent-up sigh of relief. He changed out of his clothes and collapsed into his new bed, longing for the embrace of sleep.

Hours passed. Night fell upon Watchpoint Gibraltar, and the rest of Overwatch's agents turned in themselves. It was time to rest up for another day of dealing justice and saving lives.

All Amos could do, however, was lie in his bed and stare blankly at the ceiling for half the night.

The first time his life had changed this drastically, he had just cut off all contact with the people he had once called friends and family. The second time was when Reaper—apparently at Sombra's urging—had dragged him into the darkness of Talon's ranks. The third and latest time was just yesterday, when the shadows had spat his chewed-up body back out, and Overwatch scooped up the remains.

He should have been thrilled. This was what he had worked for throughout his entire college education: the chance to be a part of Overwatch. No longer would he be considered the villain (especially if Tracer had her way), or even a minor threat. He could help people far and wide, make new friends he could trust with his life, and finally prove all his detractors wrong.

So…why did he feel so out of place?

Amos frowned and looked down at his chest. The answer lied in his heart. His stupid, foolish heart and its stupid, child-like crush on a highly lethal assassin. Why was it so hard to just forget about Widowmaker? There was nothing he could do for her condition at this point, and her method of thanks for his constant fretting over her was most likely to be a shot to the head. In fact, she would most _assuredly_ slaughter him the second she saw him again. She had taken time out of her own tight schedule to guide him to the spot in Talon's ranks where he could do his best work, and the thanks he had now given her was more-or-less a defection to the enemy.

Why was he so worried about how she perceived him? Granted, how he looked in people's eyes had always been something that fueled his anxiety, especially when the working world depended so much upon networking. But, at the moment, Widowmaker's view of him seemed to matter more than that of anyone else. And Amos hated that fact; he had enough to worry about right now, living in a base where a firing squad was practically right around the corner. He sighed. He had to focus. He had to move on with his life, just as he had when he first ventured into the world by himself. He had to—

The door to his room opened, seemingly of its own accord. Seconds later, it closed, and a red light on the keypad indicated that it had locked itself.

Amos narrowed his eyes and fumbled for the gun on his bedside table. But, before he could reach it, a set of clawed fingers reached out of nowhere and wrapped around his wrist.

"Easy, there, _amigo_ ," smirked Sombra, her camouflage fading away.

"Wha—Sombra?" Amos sputtered. She let go of his wrist, but he remained close to his gun.

"Were you expecting, maybe, Thespian 4.0?" quipped the hacker, giggling slightly at Amos' attempts to cover his unprotected underwear beneath a sea of sheets. "How's life treating you?"

"Like it usually does," Amos said as he finally gathered a fully protective layer over his modesty. "What are you doing here? Actually, better question; how did you even _get in_ here?"

"Are you kidding? This place is a dump," Sombra snorted. "I don't even need to hack my way into here anymore. As for what I'm doing here?"

She casually took a seat on the edge of his bed, immediately lying on her back and sprawling her arms out.

"I was just curious about how comfy these beds are," Sombra finished. "They're not bad."

"…seriously, though," Amos frowned.

Talon's hacker looked at him out of the corner of her eye, maintaining her spread-eagle position. "Would you believe me if I told you I was here for you?"

"Probably not."

"Well, I am," Sombra rose enough to lean on one arm and look directly at Amos. "I figured you should know some things about a mutual friend of ours."

She flicked her clawed fingers, and a holographic image of Widowmaker's blue face materialized on their tips.

But Amos held his blankets more tightly around him. "I already know what I need to know about Widow. My life is complicated enough as it is."

"Aww, you can't fool me," Sombra cooed, poking him in the nose. "I like to look through the base's security footage when I'm bored. Sometimes I find guys changing in their rooms. And other times," she added with a knowing smirk, "I find certain people visiting sick spiders."

The hair on Amos' arms began to stand on end as a tinge of pink flared throughout his face.

"There's a name that keeps coming up with her, right?" Sombra continued, absent-mindedly flicking through images of Widowmaker. "Oh, what was it again…?"

"Gérard?" Amos blurted before he could stop himself. Sombra smirked and sat upright.

"There we go, that's the one," she said. "Gérard Lacroix. He used to work for Overwatch, coordinating operations specifically against Talon. Our men in black couldn't take Gérard out of the picture directly…"

She brought up an image, featuring a man with raven-black hair and a pencil mustache—most likely Gérard himself—and a woman in a wedding gown. Amos stifled a gasp; he would recognize the woman anywhere. Her skin lacked its usual periwinkle pigment, her hair was a charcoal black instead of the familiar navy, and her chocolate brown eyes failed to shine with their usual gold, but there still was no mistaking her.

It was Widowmaker.

"…so they went to his wife," Sombra finished.

Amos' heart plummeted into his stomach, almost at the same time that his jaw dropped. "S-she...Widow's _married_?"

"Shh, I'm getting to that," Sombra put a finger to his lips. Then, she spread her arms wide, scattering a plethora of images in front of her. "Talon got a hold of Gérard's wife, one Amélie Lacroix. They broke her down, piece by piece, using torture and neural reconditioning. Then, when Talon was sure nothing was left of Amélie, they built her back up…"

"…as Widowmaker," Amos finished dully, gazing at the images with a blank stare and misting eyes. His heart, still lodged in his now-sickened stomach, started to bleed. "They put her through the same thing I went through."

"Oh, trust me, she had it even worse than you did, what with being more valuable and all," Sombra added. "Once the reconditioning was complete, they let her back into Overwatch's custody. Two weeks later, Gérard Lacroix was found dead in his bed, and Amélie was nowhere to be found."

"She went back to Talon," Amos surmised.

"Where they trained her in espionage and adjusted her body to make her into a one-of-a-kind living weapon," Sombra nodded as she showed a few more images of Widowmaker, this time cataloging the sniper as she leapt through a series of training regimes.

Amos could only stare at the snippets of his superior's past. At this point, her pale skin had yet to take on its familiar periwinkle hue, and her ponytail only went down to the bottom of her neck rather than her waist. But the navy tone was present in her hair and lips, the latter already bearing that permanent frown the sniper always seemed to wear. Looking at the budding Widowmaker only further shattered his heart, but he found himself drawn to the images like a magnet to its opposite pole.

Sombra smirked as she observed where his focus lied. "You seem _very_ interested now."

Amos paused, feeling goose bumps prickling down his arms. "Why tell me all of this?"

"Well, being picky with who you trust is all well and good," Sombra said as she finally hefted herself off of Amos' bed, the holograms vanishing as she did so, "but sometimes…you need to know who your friends are."

She gave him a quick farewell wave before translocating out of sight. Amos slumped back down on his bed, desperately trying to process everything he had just learned.

If there had been any chance of his sleeping soundly tonight, it had just been obliterated.

* * *

The world was an open book now.

He had finally pried open Helix's doors, plundering their secrets for himself. He had robbed all manner of data archives, taking as much relevant information as he desired. Countless blueprints for new bodies, new mechanical brethren, were in his hands. He would have laughed now, if he were able. How far he had come since he had been left without a body.

Now, he had everything he needed. He had the keys to the world.

It was time to step through the door.


	9. Chapter 9: Tangling the Web

**Hey, all! With the Anniversary event done and dusted, uploads should return to their regular weekly schedule (provided I don't get too busy with something else in the meantime). The feedback thus far has been immensely helpful in getting me pointed in a better direction for this, and while plans for this specific story are largely set in stone, future installments will be able to take more of the feedback into account (despite this, I don't forsee anymore payload escort recycling in this story beyond a brief moment in this chapter. :p). Thanks again to everyone who's taken the time to give this project of mine a chance.**

 **Now, without further ado, we continue.**

Chapter 9: Tangling the Web

"Rise and shine, Amos!" Tracer chirped as she rapped on Amos' door. "We've got a big day today!"

"…I'm coming," came the groggy reply from within the former Talon grunt's room.

Tracer smiled and waited. Given the previous day's events, as well as the fact that she had chosen the crack of dawn as their wake-up time, she wasn't terribly surprised that Amos still sounded like he had been steamrolled. After a few moments of shuffling feet and rustling fabric, however, the door opened to show Tracer exactly _how_ tired he was.

"You okay, love?" she asked, her smile fading when she noticed the dark bags under his eyes. "You look like you barely got a wink of sleep."

"I'll live," Amos mumbled, adjusting his belt and vest before donning his helmet. Tracer's eyes flitted across his uniform.

"You don't need to wear the stuff Talon gave you, you know," she pointed out. "We can find you some new clothes. Then you'll fit right in with us!"

"But…I like this helmet," Amos said meekly. "It makes me feel safe."

"Aw, okay, you can keep the helmet," Tracer sighed, though she couldn't suppress a giggle. "And we'll probably need some time to find something that fits you, anyway. Now, come on! Winston's got a big meeting for us right after breakfast!"

* * *

"Ahem," Winston cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming. As you may have heard, there are some announcements I'd like to make."

The crew of Watchpoint Gibraltar, now including Amos, gathered around a circular table with a holographic globe emitting from the center. Amos sat at the table with the rest, still hiding under his helmet as he tried desperately to copy Sombra's invisibility techniques. Tracer was by his side, occasionally giving him a glance along with her best encouraging smile. Also present were Ana, Genji, and Tina. The cyborg sat quietly with arms folded, glancing over at Tina as the street urchin rather noisily devoured a bag of potato chips.

"Tina," Ana admonished the girl. Tina's response was to stick her tongue out at her elder, proudly displaying a disheveled mess of partially-crushed food. "Ugh! Gracious, child, did no one teach you table manners?"

The girl from Ilios made a garbled noise that sounded something like "whatever" before propping her feet on the table and performing an obscene finger gesture in Ana's direction. Winston cleared his throat again from his place at the centermost area of the table's perimeter.

"As I was saying," Winston sighed, adjusting a stack of papers in his massive hands, "I'd like to start today's meeting by making some announcements. First, uh…I'd like us all to extend a warm welcome to our newest member, Amos."

Amos gulped, feeling many sets of eyes boring into him as he sank into his chair like one would into quicksand.

"Relax, love," Tracer giggled. "You don't have to make a speech or anything."

"Now, uh…I know that there may be some objections to having an ex-Talon soldier in our ranks," Winston continued, "but as I mentioned in Dorado, Tracer and I have worked with Amos before. We can both assure you that he isn't like the rest of Talon's agents. We've seen him place saving lives at the highest possible priority, and that's the kind of thing we need right now."

Most people would probably have felt a surge of pride, even a tiny one, when faced with such praise. At this point in his life, however, Amos could only look at Winston with skepticism and worry. The ape may have been stroking what little ego the ex-Talon agent had for the moment, but how long would that last?

"So, I move that we put aside any preconceived notions we may have about Amos, and try to make him feel like he belongs here with us," Winston declared with a smile. "Now, our next item happens to be our satellite system."

"Ugh, wake me when something worthwhile comes up," Tina grumbled as she curled up in her seat. Ana could only sigh and shake her head, but a small chuckle escaped from beneath Genji's mask. He remembered having an attitude like Tina's.

"For those who, uh, may not be completely up-to-date with events on our end—for one reason or another—I'll try and abridge things for you," Winston continued. "Six years ago, Overwatch was shut down amidst a number of criminal allegations. The Petras Act was passed into law, which made any organized activity by Overwatch operatives illegal."

He paused with a sigh.

"But, I just…I couldn't keep seeing all the suffering in the world and not do something about it," Winston sighed. Amos sat up slightly, sensing something he had in common with the ape. "I considered initiating the recall notice time and time again, but as Athena always reminded me, I would be violating international law. Then, a few months ago, Reaper attacked this base, along with a squad of Talon soldiers."

Ana narrowed her good eye, recognizing the shadowy mercenary's name.

"He had been looking for the names and locations of all former Overwatch operatives, information that happened to be stored here," Winston continued. "I was able to fight him off, but…well, you've seen the effects our battle had on the base. I overcame my doubts that day, and I sent out the recall to all former Overwatch agents…well, uh, the ones who were officially still living, anyway," he added with a quick glance to Ana, who chuckled. "Unfortunately, I've only been able to actually get in touch with a few of the former agents. To get a hold of the others, we need to restore Overwatch's communications network, and to do that…"

He flicked a switch on the table, and the holographic globe vanished. Taking its place was an image of a large device contained within a rocket-like shell.

"…we need to launch this satellite," Winston finished. He looked from each of his friends to the next, then his lips cracked into a fanged smile. "I've dreamed of the day where we would bring our family back together, and start making the world safe again. Today's the day. Let's get that satellite to the launch pad."

* * *

It soon became apparent why Winston was unable to launch the satellite on his own. Despite being housed in a hovering craft outside the base, the satellite was quite heavy; so much so, in fact, that it would take multiple individuals of significant strength to move it.

This fact did not deter some people.

"Ugh!" Tracer grunted as she threw the entirety of her slim body into shoving the satellite. It remained stationary. "Someone help me move this thing!"

Tina rolled her eyes and sat down, still munching on her chips. "Nah, you're on your own, Brit."

"Tina, if you plan on staying here and sharing our food, you need to earn your keep," Ana said sternly.

"Then I'll just go home," Tina shrugged. "Problem solved."

Ana sighed and shook her head. "Tina, we're trying to help you—"

"Heard that before, hag," the street urchin interrupted, finishing her bag of chips and reclining on the ground. "Still don't buy it."

As Ana massaged her temples in frustration, Amos took note of where everyone was. Genji had volunteered for sentry duty, scouring the outskirts of the base for potential intruders. That left Amos, Winston, Tracer, Ana, and Tina to move the satellite. Only Amos and Winston, however, seemed able (or at least willing) to help Tracer push, with Ana serving as a secondary lookout.

"All right, ready?" Winston asked as he and Amos took a place beside Tracer. "Heave!"

The trio gave a mighty shove, and their combined efforts managed to slowly move the payload along.

"Ha-ha, great!" Winston laughed. "By the laws of motion, things should get easier from here on out."

"That's nice," Amos grunted quickly, only halfway paying attention to the gorilla's words. There was quite a bit on his mind beyond the application of Newton's laws to payloads.

And, this time, he didn't regret thinking about _her_.

The shame he once felt when he thought of Widowmaker was gone, replaced by an ache of pure empathy. He knew what it was like to have one's identity buried under the bloodthirsty persona Talon preferred in its agents. But, Amos was just an expendable foot soldier; Widowmaker, as a more valuable operative, had been through worse. He felt his stomach turn at the very idea of the torture Talon put her through, just to retool her into their puppet.

Sombra had put to rest several of his questions about his blue-skinned superior, but so many more questions rose from their ashes. Widowmaker knew about Amos' conditioning, but did she know about her own? Did she care? Why was she so willing to serve Talon, after what they had put her through? Did they suppress her memories, or at least alter them? She still remembered her late husband, at least. Gérard Lacroix was clearly a trigger for her now, something that caused her steady absence of emotion to falter. She obviously missed him; despite her deed—if she even knew she did it—she still loved him.

"Amos?"

Then there was the situation regarding Amos' relationship with Widowmaker. Was it really Widowmaker who had seen potential in him? Or was it Amélie? God, she a pretty name: Amélie Lacroix. It sounded like honey in his ears, and he wanted to roll it over in his mouth. How would it sound in Amélie's French accent, that sweet and sultry voice that perked up his oft-timid heart? It had a bit of rhythm to it, as well. It sounded just—

"Oi, Amos!"

The cockney accent snapped Amos back to reality, and he jumped off the satellite. "Ack! What?!"

Tracer blinked. "Easy, love. You just look distracted, is all."

"…oh," Amos sighed. He went back to pushing the payload.

"Something on your mind?" Tracer asked.

Amos paused. She sounded genuine in her curiosity, not judgmental or biting. Maybe it was worth opening up to her, just a little bit?

"Just…thinking about someone I kind of had to leave behind in Talon," he said after a moment.

Tracer's usual grin spread ear-to-ear. "Oh, yeah, that's right! You had someone special with you, didn't you?"

This was what he got for opening up to people.

"Uh, actually, she's—she's not seeing anyone, least of all me," Amos stuttered.

"You mentioned needing to be in Talon's medical bay when we found you in Dorado," Winston added. "Is she okay?"

"Well—" Amos glanced behind him to ensure that Ana was out of earshot, or at least not listening. The elder sniper was too busy scolding Tina again to notice. Before he could continue, however, Tracer spoke up.

"You want to talk about it somewhere a little more private when we're done here?" she asked. Her typically-chipper tone had phased into something more serious.

Amos sighed again. "I…I don't know. I mean, don't get me wrong, you guys seem nice, but—"

"Hey," Tracer put a hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you, all right? We know you're a great guy, and you deserve support. We want to give you that support."

" _Winston?_ " Genji's voice came through the gorilla's communicator. " _We have a visitor. One of Overwatch's old guard._ "

"Fantastic!" Winston exclaimed. "Give us a few minutes, and we'll greet them."

" _Actually, he is already on his way to you,_ " Genji pointed out. " _Via rocket charge, in fact._ "

Amos blinked. "Wait, what?"

Seconds later, a hulking figure clad in knight-like armor roared past the satellite, the rocket engine on his back propelling him forward at an alarming velocity. Then, with an earsplitting clang of steel against steel, the knight slammed headlong into a wall, leaving a sizeable dent.

"Ugh," the massive knight groaned, rubbing his head as he pulled himself out of the wall. "I'll feel that in the morning."

Tracer's eyes lit up. "Reinhardt! You're back!"

"Back, and ready for more!" Reinhardt laughed. "A few bullet wounds won't keep me from the good fight!"

Then he noticed Amos slowly backing away from the satellite.

"TALON!" Reinhardt roared, raising his massive hammer and rushing forth like a mad dog. Amos yelped in terror and scrambled away as fast as his boots would carry him. "COME BACK HERE, COWARD! ARE YOU _AFRAID_ TO FIGHT ME?! ARE YOU _CHICKEN_?!"

"That's enough, Reinhardt!"

The colossus froze in his tracks at the sound of Ana's scolding. He turned to see her, and once she entered his sights, his hammer slipped out of his hands.

"Ana?" he gasped. He pulled his helmet off, revealing a lion's mane of white hair with matching beard. "How can this be? I thought you were dead…"

Ana sighed. "I'm sorry, Reinhardt. But, after everything that happened…I needed time."

"What happened to you?" Reinhardt asked, his raucous voice growing softer. "And…your eye?"

Amos frowned. "Something tells me we shouldn't be seeing this."

"I agree," Winston nodded. "Why don't you and Tracer head inside? Reinhardt and I can move the satellite ourselves."

"Sure thing, big guy!" Tracer saluted. Amos shrugged and followed her into the base, shrinking his head down as he passed by Reinhardt.

"Yeah, I'm gonna leave, too," Tina grunted as she finally stood up and went inside. "It's sounding like there's a gag fest coming."

Fortunately, Overwatch's elder members were too engaged with one another to notice. Winston found something in an outdoor shed to divert his attention.

"Who did this, Ana?" Reinhardt asked. "Who was it that took you from us?"

She closed her good eye for a moment. "It was Amélie."

"Amélie Lacroix?" Reinhardt balked. "Never!"

"I saw her face, Reinhardt. I know it was her," Ana insisted, her stern tone forcing Reinhardt to back down. "She killed Bayless, Al-farouk, Singh, Tekharta Mondatta…" She paused. "…Gérard…."

"Her own husband? But she loved him!"

"I thought so, too," Ana shook her head. "But no one else could have done it. Maybe she was working with Talon all along. Maybe her marriage to Gérard was just a ploy to get him out of Talon's way. Maybe those times when we thought she had been kidnapped were really just visits home for her." She sighed again. "Whatever she was before, she's dropped the subtlety. She's a pure killer now."

Reinhardt steeled his gaze. "Then we will stop her, and avenge all the wrongs Talon have wrought!"

"Ah, Reinhardt, how little you've changed over the years," Ana chuckled. "A pity I can't say the same for myself. Betrayal from a close friend will do that, I suppose."

Reinhardt's furred lips parted slightly. The pain in Ana's sole remaining eye, her bitter smile, spoke volumes. The weights on her soul had finally brought her down.

"Ana," Reinhardt began, putting one armored hand on her face with a tenderness belying his enormous size. "What happened to the woman I knew? The fierce eagle that protected those she loved with everything she had?"

A hint of sadness slipped into Ana's smile. "I'm afraid she's long gone."

"I don't believe that," Reinhardt shook his head. "There must be a way we can bring her back."

Ana gently removed Reinhardt's hand. "Someday, Reinhardt…but not today."

And with that, the shell of a sniper headed inside, leaving the knight to stare despondently at her departing form.

* * *

Tracer led Amos into a small meeting room past the hanger. Amos remembered the room, having passed by it on their tour. It seemed to be designed for planning missions, with a rotating blackboard on one end of the room and rows of chairs facing it. Once they entered the room, Tracer sat Amos down in a chair before bounding into the one nearest to him.

"So!" she said, crossing her legs and slipping her hands into her lap. "You up for a little chat?"

"Uh…I don't know. What about?"

"How about your girlfriend?" Tracer asked with the friendliest smile she could manage.

Amos just sighed, slouching back in his chair. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

Tracer's smile finally turned downward, her face turning more serious.

"Amos," she said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, "I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything. I know you feel like a fish out of water here, but it's not going to get any better if you just clam up and keep to yourself."

Her smile quickly returned.

"Besides, I'm lucky enough to have someone to call a girlfriend, too," she continued, taking her hand back into her lap. "If you're interested in relationship advice, I'm more than happy to help."

Amos frowned as he considered his options. Tracer did seem sincere in her desire to be his friend, and there were few who could boast the deeds she was doing for him now. And after seeing her stick up for him to the faces of her seniors, to not give her the benefit of the doubt would inevitably cost him. Besides, maybe she would prove helpful? There was no way he would be able to free Widowmaker from Talon's thrall by himself; help from Overwatch would be immensely welcome.

"All right," he relented. "We can talk."

"Cracking!" Tracer pumped her fist victoriously. "So, tell me all about her! How'd you guys meet?"

"We…met on a mission to Numbani," Amos replied. He suspected he would have to choose his words carefully, at least until he ascertained whether he could trust Tracer with the more sensitive information. She, however, was leaning forward in her chair, eagerly drinking in every detail. "One of those failed Doomfist gauntlet ops—there have been a lot of those, actually."

"Yeah, Winston and I stopped one at the Overwatch museum a while back," Tracer nodded. "The gauntlet got moved to the Numbani Heritage Museum after that, right? And they're still going after it? Talon must really want it badly."

"Yeah, no kidding," Amos rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, back on track!" Tracer interjected. "Did you guys hook up then?"

"Um…no, we, er…haven't actually done anything like that," Amos mumbled, his face starting to heat up under his helmet. "See, the thing is…Talon puts its troops through this conditioning process where they turn you into the perfect soldier. And, uh, just so happens to throw in some bloodlust for the fun of it."

He took a deep breath before continuing.

"My first mission was to Dorado, where my unit stole the LumériCo fusion core that Sombra apparently turned into a Trojan horse the other day," he said. "My conditioning broke around then. But…I'm pretty sure her conditioning is still in effect, so she's more interested in killing and doing Talon's dirty work than, uh…you know…"

"Aww, sorry to hear that," Tracer pouted. "Maybe you can win her over! You got any common ground with her? What's she into?"

Amos could almost feel the egg shells under his feet.

"I, uh…I don't know a whole lot about her, honestly," he admitted. "I know she really likes killing—she tends to say it makes her feel 'alive' or something—but I think that's just the conditioning talki—"

"Wait, wait, hold up a tic!" Tracer raised a hand. She was no longer smiling. "Are we talking about who I think we're talking about?"

The egg shells shattered. "Um…"

"Your girl doesn't happen to be a sniper, does she?" Tracer asked with a suspicious look. "With blue skin?"

Amos' throat ran dry. He swallowed hard. "Uh…well…may…be?"

Tracer's hardening face told him everything he needed to know about the situation.

"Look, it's been great talking, but I really need to—"

"Hold on a sec!" Tracer intercepted him the second he tried to leave the chair, gripping his arm. Her face radiated hatred. "We need to talk about this! Do you actually mean to tell me that you have a thing for _Widowmaker_ , of all people?!"

A terrified lump lodged in Amos' throat. There was no quick exit. Everything was unraveling at the speed of light now.

"Do you have any idea the things she's done?!" Tracer shrieked, clearly unwilling to stop anytime soon. "She's a bloody monster, Amos!"

He instinctively piped up. "She's my friend! Well, I mean—technically I just consider her my friend, but she's been good to m—"

Tracer's hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping them like iron vices. "She's _no one's_ friend, dammit! She's a cold-hearted, murderous, arrogant _bitch_! She doesn't give any love, and she doesn't deserve any!"

Every word was like a punch in the stomach. His breathing rate picked up. His head shrank down into his shoulders as he inched backwards into a wall.

"I was there when she murdered Mondatta!" Tracer continued railing. "I got her on the ground and asked her why she would do something so god-damned _awful_! And you know what she did? She _laughed_! SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE! People's suffering is _funny_ to her! I could see into her eyes in that moment, and there was _nothing_ in them! They were empty! People don't act like that because someone makes them! They do it because they're awful people! And if we take her down, she'll get what's coming to her!"

Amos said nothing as the final nail was thrust into his coffin. His lips pinched tightly together, sealing off any possible sound. Only the air circulating through his nostrils and Tracer's heavy pants could be heard in the room for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Amos swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I need to go," he whimpered, and before Tracer could say anything, he was out of the room.

He needed to be alone. He needed privacy. He needed safety. He needed a place where no one could make things worse. He ran into Winston on his way to find one.

"Oh, Amos!" the gorilla greeted him. "Reinhardt and I just finished launching the satellite! Did you and Tracer get a chance to—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Amos blurted hurriedly as he brushed past without giving Winston so much as a glance.

There were so few places in the base that someone hadn't gone, or wouldn't go. He needed space. He needed peace. His heart thumped madly as he searched desperately.

Amos went outside. He climbed up to a walkway and discovered an isolated supply closet. He flung the door open and rushed inside, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Finally.

He tore off his helmet, curled up in a ball, and quietly cried. He remained in that closet, barricaded within, until the light of the sun outside faded away and his stomach grumbled for nourishment. He didn't want to leave, even for his own good. He wanted to stay in this closet forever, where no one would yell at him again.

So he stayed there, in a broken heap, and let his tears flow freely in a room as lonely and isolated as he felt.

* * *

 **I imagine there are going to be some questions regarding why I wrote Tracer the way I did in this chapter (especially how, in some of the stories I've read, she is often portrayed as an optimistic and forgiving sort of person who sees the best in everyone). In some of her in-game voice lines, I noticed that she seems to have a bit of a judgmental streak, which comes out when she kills an enemy hero with even the most remote criminal ties. In addition, I'm trying to more-or-less stick to the game's canon, in which Tracer is never particularly happy to see Widow (to the point of saying "that felt good" when killing an enemy Widow).**

 **In some of the reviews I've gotten, a few people have expressed surprise that the stories I've written haven't gotten more reviews or favorites and so on. Honestly, I was expecting to get more hate than I have, considering how volatile I've seen fandoms get when someone doesn't proclaim undying support for only the most popular pairings. This makes me grateful for all the positive feedback and constructive criticism that I've gotten (especially now that I've jinxed it and will get hateful messages any second now. XD). I've always liked trying something different than whatever happens to be popular, and I'm glad that people are enjoying my application of that to this story. Chances are good that I'd have tried to put this out regardless of how many people read it, but the fact that people do enjoy this really motivates me to do more and keep getting better.**

 **Anyway, now that I've tacked an unfittingly happy author's note onto a chapter with a sad ending, I think I'll sign off now. Hope you all enjoy the following chapters!**


	10. Chapter 10: Alone

Chapter 10: Alone

The next morning, Winston lumbered into the barracks, brow contorted with worry as he passed by most of his comrades' bedrooms. Something had clearly gone wrong when Amos and Tracer had their private conversation. The former Talon grunt had outright skipped dinner, where Winston had been hoping to strike up a discussion of the former's problems. With this goal still in mind, Winston stopped outside of Amos' room and gently knocked on the door.

"Amos?" he ventured in a low voice. "Are you awake?"

No answer. The worry in the ape's brow amplified. He reached up to knock again, but before he could do so, the door across from Amos' slid open. Tracer ambled out with a stretch and a yawn.

"Morning, big guy!" Tracer greeted him in her usual cheer. Her face fell when she saw his worried brow. "Did I miss something?"

"Just a moment," Winston said. He knocked on the door again. "Amos? Are you in there?"

Still nothing.

"Something going on?" Tracer asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I bumped into Amos yesterday, and I asked him how your talk had gone. He just said he didn't want to talk about it and ran off," Winston explained. His worry had become contagious, as it now appeared on Tracer's frown. "I was hoping to check on him, see if he was all right."

"Well, we don't need to stand around and talk about it!" Tracer remarked. Her eyes flitted over the keypad, just before widening. "Uh, Winston…I think his door's unlocked."

Winston followed her eyes, and found this to indeed be the case. "Well, since he isn't answering, and he may need help…"

He typed a few numbers into the keypad, and the door to Amos' room opened wide.

There was no one inside. The room was spotless. Tracer gulped nervously, her concerned frown evolving to a panicked grimace. A wave of guilt surfaced in her eyes.

"Tracer…I need to know something," Winston began in an unusually serious tone. "What exactly happened when you and he talked yesterday?"

Tracer bit her lip. "We…had a bit of a spat about that girl from Talon he liked. He kept saying that she's being controlled, like he says he used to be, but we know she's—I mean, I've seen her in action, and I wasn't buying what he was saying, and I just…lashed out at him."

She paused long enough to embarrassedly rub her head.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" the British woman remarked.

"We'll deal with it later," Winston frowned. "Right now, we need to find Amos, and soon. I don't want to think about what he might do, given his current level of emotional stability."

* * *

Amos didn't want to move an inch. He saw no reason to.

He had no means of reaching Widowmaker, the closest equivalent he had to a true confidant within Talon's ranks. Tracer had effectively betrayed him, having led him to believe that he could truly trust and confide in her just before her crocs trampled him underfoot. The rest of Overwatch either hated him simply for the badge he wore, or would—at the very least—fail to understand the gravity of Widowmaker's situation. In the end, Amos felt more alone amongst his long-time heroes than he did in the ranks of their worst enemies.

His body remained a crumpled lump on the floor of the outdoor supply closet. Brooms and buckets and all other manner of cleaning utensils surrounded him, but all he noticed was the pain. The wounds from Tracer's barbed words were still fresh. If all those terrible descriptors were about him, maybe he wouldn't mind so much; after all, he had come to expect the worst from people. But, about someone he cared so deeply for, someone who truly needed help…

A faint touch of sunlight peeked through the crack beneath the door. Amos sighed. He had a feeling that he was expected for breakfast…but why should he ever leave this closet? Why should he surround himself with false friends who would inevitably continue to callously dismiss his words and intentions? Why should he go somewhere he obviously wasn't welcome?

Time stretched on as Amos lied on the closet floor, the nagging doubts in his mind poking and prodding him in tandem with the growing light that steadily crept into the closet. Given the overall distrust the reborn Overwatch had for him, they would probably assume that his isolation meant that he was trying to contact Talon. Or, they could guess that he had simply decided to go into the city below and feed the lust for violence they assumed all Talon soldiers had. Amos frowned bitterly at the realization that he would have to go back into the base, if only to defend himself; his choices, as always, were extremely limited. Quashing his heart's desire to remain on the floor until the end of time, he pushed himself to his feet.

This caused several brooms to fall on his head.

"Ow!" he blurted rather loudly, rubbing the spot where the brooms hit. With a groan, he donned his discarded helmet and vest, stepped over the fallen brooms, and opened the door.

Amos was met with the sight of a familiar silver-and-green figure sitting cross-legged on the walkway. Genji's swords were sheathed, and his focus seemed to be on the horizon. The familiar sight of Overwatch's Japanese representative filled Amos with an equally-familiar dread, prompting him to try and tiptoe around Genji.

"Good morning," the ninja said before Amos could take two steps. "How did you sleep?"

Amos blinked.

"Um…okay, I guess?" he shrugged. Genji nodded.

"Amos, was it?" asked the former Shimada heir. "Would you care to watch the sunrise with me?"

"Well…that would probably be better than what I should be doing," Amos shrugged and sat beside Genji. Should the cyborg decide to decapitate him, it would at least be quick.

Genji only emitted a slight chuckle in response to Amos' dour words. Beyond that, there was silence as a fiery orange light covered Watchpoint Gibraltar. The remaining shadows of night were driven back to whence they came, and like a king ascending to his throne, the sun climbed above the horizon and took its place as the monarch of the sky.

"It is beautiful here," Genji remarked quietly. "I could never appreciate it before."

"Yeah…it is nice," Amos mumbled.

Silence passed between them once more, as if honoring the risen emperor of the sky. It finally broke when Genji looked over to his new companion.

"By the way…I heard what happened between you and Miss Oxton," he said plainly.

Amos sighed and prepared a retort, but Genji simply put a hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry she would not understand," the ninja finished.

Amos stared for a moment. "Okay, now you've lost me."

Genji removed his hand and looked down at himself.

"I was once…a selfish and reckless individual," he admitted. "I was expected to inherit my family's criminal empire, but I was more interested in entertaining myself, even if it meant hurting those close to me. My brother, Hanzo, was tasked with straightening me out. We came to blows…and I was left for dead."

If Amos' heart could sink any lower than it already was, it would have. "…I'm…sorry your family did that to you."

"I have moved beyond grief," Genji said with a slight smile in his voice, "but I am getting ahead of myself. Overwatch found my broken body, and they offered to rebuild me if I helped them destroy my family's empire."

Amos blinked and raised an eyebrow. An unsettling thought slipped into his brain; would his lifelong idols have just left the young Shimada to die if he refused to fight his family?

"I made the obvious choice," Genji continued, "but I became something the world despised. Even I hated myself. I left Overwatch the moment my debt was paid, and wandered the world until I met a Shambali monk by the name of Tekharta Zenyatta."

"Tekharta?" Amos repeated. "Like Mondatta?"

"In a sense," Genji replied. "Where Mondatta preferred grand speeches and preaching to large groups, Zenyatta spent more time building connections between individuals. He sought to forge one such connection with me. I refused, at first. I thought no one would truly want to help a half-machine monster like myself. But, he never gave up on me, and in time, he took me under his wing."

The cybernetic ninja looked down at himself.

"Now…my soul is at peace," Genji continued. "I see a greater picture than I did before. I no longer harbor a grudge against my brother. In fact…I wish to redeem him." He looked to Amos. "You and I have some common ground in that sense. We both wish to save those who are important to us."

Amos only held his legs and looked to his feet. "Look…I appreciate your being nice and all, but…I just—I don't know, I…honestly, after yesterday, I'm having a hard time believing you're really on board with this."

"Understandable," Genji nodded. "But let me assure you, I have nothing to gain from deceiving you."

"That hasn't stopped some people," Amos muttered.

"Then let me illustrate."

The familiar sword found its way out from its sheath. Amos cringed at the sight of the weapon that once threatened to drink from his throat, but Genji simply held the blade out in front of him.

"This is my sword, _Ryū Ichimonji_ ," the former heir said, allowing his weapon to catch the shining sunlight. "If I were to strike you down with it, would the sword be at fault?"

"…um…no?" Amos blinked. "You're…kind of the one swinging it."

"Exactly," Genji nodded, re-sheathing his blade. "If what you claim about the one called Widowmaker is true, then she is the _weapon_ , not the _wielder_. And removing the weapon from the wielder's hands will benefit all of us, particularly if finds itself in our own hands."

Amos paused as he mulled over Genji's words. He had to admit, the cyborg made a convincing argument…but was being convinced a good idea, especially considering the previous day's events? And what would happen to Widowmaker if she were to find herself in Overwatch's custody? Before he could ask his burning question, however, a blue light suddenly whizzed by him.

"THERE YOU ARE!" Tracer cried as she blinked next to Amos, giving him a swift punch in the shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you _stop running off_?! You had us all really worried!"

"…noted," Amos mumbled bitterly, rubbing the spot Tracer had punched. He turned his gaze to the ground, the sight of her only grinding salt into his wounds.

"He is fine," Genji assured her. "I happened to find him in that storage closet when I came out here to watch the sunrise."

Tracer gave her comrade a bewildered look, then glanced inside the closet.

"Amos," she said slowly, eyes widening slightly at his makeshift bed and the fallen supplies. "What were you doing in there?"

Amos quietly clenched his jaw as he suppressed a maelstrom within him. He had so many things he could say to her, so many thoughts threatening to burst out of his mouth. As experience had shown, however, there was no point in telling her anything she didn't want to hear. But, Genji looked to him, as if also expecting an answer.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, Amos sighed. "That's where I slept last night."

Tracer's jaw dropped as she whirled on him.

"W-what?!" she balked. "Amos, we have all these beds here! Why would you want to sleep in a bloody closet?!"

"…I don't want to talk about it," Amos mumbled through gritted teeth. "I need to go."

He stood up to leave, but Tracer's hand wrapped itself around his arm again. She immediately felt his miniscule muscles tense in her grip as he froze.

"Could you please just let go for once?" Amos hissed.

"Amos…are you okay?" Tracer asked quietly.

His only response was to tear his arm out of her grasp and start trudging away.

"This is about what happened yesterday, isn't it?" Tracer pressed. "Is that why you don't want to talk to me?"

Amos said nothing, clenching his jaw and sinking his head into his shoulders. Before he could get very far in his quest for solitude, Tracer suddenly blinked into him and threw her arms around him. His skin practically crawled at her touch.

"I'm sorry, love," Tracer whispered. The fact that Amos was still wearing his helmet made the embrace slightly uncomfortable, but she dared not mention it. "I didn't mean to be hurtful, I really didn't. I just…I don't want you going down a bad path."

"I believe I should take my leave," Genji said. Amos tried to reach out to him without breaking the hug, but the ninja had already leapt off the walkway and was inside the main building in a flash. With Genji gone, Amos' hand fell limply by his side, just in time for Tracer to pull away.

"You all right?" she gave him a friendly smile. He glanced at her, then looked away.

"…I'm fine," Amos lied. Honesty, he figured, would only make this situation worse.

"You want to come to breakfast with us?" Tracer asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone's excited to get to know you."

"Yeah, I bet Ana's vomit-inducing dart rifle and Reinhardt's fireball-spewing hammer of death are just 'dying' to meet me," Amos sighed, using his fingers as quotation marks for good measure.

"You let _me_ worry about them," Tracer said with a slight giggle.

"I would, but worrying is about all I'm good at," Amos rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.

"Aw, that's not true!" Tracer insisted, giving him a light shove before throwing one arm around his shoulders. "You gotta give yourself some more credit, love! You watch, someday soon you're gonna be a great hero!"

"Yeah, no," Amos grunted, removing Tracer's arm as if it were diseased. "I'm no hero. Trust me."

"Aw, come on! You're a great guy!" the time-hopper insisted. Amos stopped and whirled on her.

"Well, my taste in women leaves a lot to be desired, doesn't it?!" he snapped. "Not to mention the fact that I'd rather give people rehab instead of just shooting them like you did with Eli!"

Tracer opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Her oft-jubilant expression twisted as the hurt set in Amos sighed, letting his forehead fall into his palm.

"Sorry, it's just…I need to be alone for a while," he sighed.

"But…I thought you hated being alone?" Tracer said quietly.

"Yeah, I do," Amos replied. "But at least I know I'm safe that way."

Tracer just stood there for a moment as Amos turned away again, this time successfully heading inside. She heaved a sigh of her own before following him in. She had a mistake to fix.

* * *

"Goodness, Tina, settle down," Ana scolded. "You eat like you have two hollow legs. And you're making quite the mess."

The Ilios-born street urchin was indeed shoveling down her breakfast at an alarming rate, spilling a fair bit of it on her clothes in the process. She briefly looked down at herself, examining the carnage she had wrought upon her garments, before shrugging dismissively and continuing to inhale everything in front of her.

"Ah, kids these days," Reinhardt chuckled, sitting at the table as well. Ana could only shake her head.

"Amos, come on!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No means no, Tracer."

"Look, just tell me how I can make it a 'yes' instead!"

Ana turned her head just in time to see Amos, pursued by Tracer, stop in his tracks and look at her.

"Please. Just. Leave me. _Alone_ ," he hissed slowly, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away.

Ana frowned. "What's going on over there?"

"Oh! Uh, nothing, Cap!" Tracer forced one of her usual grins. "I have this under control!"

"Why does that sound like the kind of thing you'd say just before something you're in charge of blows up in your face?" Amos asked, a snide tinge in his voice.

Tina snorted some of her food out through her nose. "Ha! Good one!"

"Tina, that's disgusting," Ana admonished her. She ignored the rude gesture the younger girl shot her in response and looked back to Amos and Tracer. "As for the two of you, it doesn't look to me like everything is as 'under control' as you'd like me to believe. And, while I'm thinking about it," she added as she stood up, "I've been meaning to have a little talk with our new friend—I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Who, me?" Amos blinked, pointing at himself. Ana nodded. "Oh, uh…I'm Amos."

The elderly sniper smiled. "Well then, Amos, would you like to join me for tea after breakfast? You're welcome to come, too, Lena."

"Sounds good to me!" Tracer grinned.

"Can I pass?" Amos groaned, raising his hand. "Not that I hate tea or anything, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep company that doesn't want me dead."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Ana rolled her eye. "It's just sitting down for tea."

"Don't worry, love, I'll have your back!" Tracer smiled, lightly punching Amos' shoulder. He put a hand to the spot she had jabbed, gritting his teeth under his helmet as he swallowed another bitter comment.

"All right, fine!" he groaned. "Let's just get it over with."

"It's settled, then. We'll meet in my quarters when you're finished eating," Ana smiled and returned to her table.

Tracer grinned and moved to throw an arm around Amos' shoulders again, but he was already gone. He retrieved his food and left the mess hall altogether. On the way out, however, he came across Winston.

"Amos! I was just looking for you!" the gorilla greeted him. He cleared his throat to purge some of his enthusiasm before speaking again. "Is, uh…everything all right?"

Amos shrugged. "I'll live."

He made his way past the ape and locked himself in his room, where he ate his meal in silence. Winston frowned for a moment before going for his own breakfast.

* * *

With everyone's breakfast disposed of, Amos reluctantly trudged the halls to find Ana's quarters. The door was already open, revealing not only Ana herself, but also a number of tools of the sniper's trade: spare casings for her darts, tools for rifle maintenance, and a centrifuge seemingly design to synthesize whatever substance it was that the darts injected. Several chairs were apparently appropriated from the mess hall, oriented in a circle for this occasion.

On the walls, Amos also spied what appeared to be family photographs. Some of them depicted Ana alongside other members of Overwatch, in particular the late greats known as Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. But, there was also a young girl in some of the pictures, sharing laughs and teaching moments with Ana. The dread that already permeated his chest spread further; that girl looked familiar.

"Glad you could make it," Ana called to him with a smile. "Have a seat. I assume Lena will be along shortly; you know how she is."

"Unfortunately," Amos sighed. He found himself a chair, scooting it back slightly so as to gain some tiny measure of distance between himself and Ana.

"You can take the helmet off, you know," the elderly sniper pointed out as she poured some tea for herself.

"I mean, I could, but…I like wearing it," Amos mumbled. "Makes me feel protected."

"You do realize I've shot through Talon headgear in the past?"

Amos paused, silently cursing his luck for the umpteenth time as he removed his helmet. Ana blinked once she took in his face.

"Huh. You don't look quite as young as I'd have guessed," she remarked.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Amos sighed.

"What sort of tea would you like? I've got sage, mint, black—"

"Sorry I'm late!" Tracer blurted as she whizzed into the room, immediately blinking into the chair closest to Amos.

"No, no, you're just in time," Ana chuckled. "I was just about to serve the tea. What kind would you two like?"

"I'd like some black tea, please," Tracer smiled, crossing her legs in her chair.

"I'll…just take something not strong, I guess," Amos shrugged. "Never really had tea before, honestly, so….you know…no real preferences here."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Ana smiled. She handed each of them a cup, and all three took a few collective sips.

"Now, let's address the elephant in the room, shall we?" Ana began. "What's going on with you two? You were getting along much better than this yesterday."

"We had a talk that, well…got a little out of hand," Tracer admitted with an embarrassed laugh.

"Ah, I see," Ana nodded. "What was it about, if I may ask?"

Tracer looked to Amos. "Uh…I think it'd be best if you were the one to…"

She trailed off, gesturing to Ana. The sniper gazed at the former Talon soldier expectantly, but Amos just sighed.

"Can we just not talk about it?" he asked.

"It's your decision," Ana shrugged. "But, in my experience, not clearing the air will only make things worse between you."

"Yeah," Tracer added, her tone of voice lowering into something more serious. "I really don't want us to fight, Amos."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," Ana scolded. "I've seen two people who were once good friends tear each other apart before, and I'll not see it happen again if I have any say in the matter. Now, what is it you two were arguing about?"

Amos pursed his lips. "Just my terrible taste in women."

"Hmm…I see," Ana slowly nodded. "I take it you're interested in someone Lena doesn't approve of?"

Amos nodded.

"And this woman you're interested in…I wouldn't happen to have met her in Hollywood, would I?"

Now Amos clenched his jaw, Tracer nervously shifting in her seat at how unusually hard his expression was. "You shot her."

"And, unless I miss my guess, I saw you fretting over her safety as you evacuated her," Ana continued. She paused long enough to take a quick sip of her own tea. "I have to be honest…I can't say I particularly approve of your interests, either—"

"Look, I've already gotten an earful about this part, can we please just skip it?" Amos interrupted with a sigh. "I might be stupid enough to get myself wrapped up with Talon, but I'm not so stupid that I don't know what Wid—what Amélie's done. I know she killed Tekharta Mondatta. I know she killed her husband, and probably hundreds more people over the years."

Ana stirred her tea for a second. "She also shot my eye out."

Amos froze. "…oh."

There was silence for a moment.

"Well…this got awkward pretty quickly, huh?" Tracer quipped.

Amos just gave her a look that said "no kidding" in the driest possible way.

"If you're so aware of what an awful person Amélie is, why was there an argument to begin with?" Ana asked.

"Because—" Amos cut himself off. He had to brace himself; there was no possible way that Ana was going to take the news any more gracefully than Tracer had. "I've…learned something recently. About her. Talon messed with her head. She might not even know what she's doing."

"Oh, trust me, she's very aware," Ana retorted. "Whatever Amélie was before, she's a full-fledged terrorist now."

"I know what Talon does to its people, Ana," Amos replied darkly. Tracer bit her lip; she hadn't heard him speak with such determination before. "When you first get in, they put you through what is literally a boot camp from hell. They beat you senseless regularly. They take the bloodiest video footage from the Omnic Crisis they can find and they put it right in front of your eyes. They force you to run obstacle courses that could actually kill you, provided your 'instructors' don't shoot the slowest people in the back before then. You learn to bury your feelings, your conscience, everything that makes you who you are…just so you can stay alive."

Another bout of silence fell upon the room. Tracer gently placed a hand on Amos' shoulder, but he agitatedly brushed it off. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"I was a different person before I was drafted into Talon," he said. "I was awkward, but not afraid of my own damn shadow. After the conditioning, anyone and everyone could be a threat, and the fact that I had trust issues even before then didn't help things. I had to learn to kill or be killed. And I even failed that," he added bitterly.

Ana's expression had softened by this point. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...my first time in the field, I was supposed to kill a family because they saw Talon stealing something," Amos began. "I had the family at my mercy, but I just…I couldn't do it. This little voice in the back of my head—the one fragment of _me_ that I still had—told me it was wrong. But then I remembered that the higher-ups, or even the other soldiers in my unit, would kill me if I didn't do the job. It was…around then that the brainwashing broke. All this fear and pain I had suppressed over the months Talon had spent conditioning me just…came out, all at once. The people who were scared to death of me had to get me to calm down and stop crying on their floor."

He looked down into his tea cup with a sigh, staring into its contents.

"Amélie's been conditioned, too. She went through all those awful things I was put through," Amos murmured. "But I was just a grunt. She's one of the best Talon agents I know, if not _the_ best. How much would they have put her through to get her as good at her job as she is? And…and that whole thing where she doesn't feel anything? How many horrible things did they do to make her that way?"

Ana quietly set her cup down. "I think I understand, now, what it is you want to do."

"Really?" Amos snorted in disbelief.

Ana stood up, picked up her rifle, and returned to her seat.

"Look. See all of these notches?" Ana asked, running a hand down her rifle to show off the countless markings. "Every one of them is someone I've killed."

"Whoa," Tracer's eyes went wide with admiration.

"Congratulations," Amos said, the word soaked in a bitter sarcasm.

"Yes, I've been told that frequently," Ana sighed. "Never mind the fact that every one of these notches represents someone's mother or father, brother or sister, husband or wife, son or daughter. In my decades of duty, I've broken families and taken away lovers. _Everyone_ has someone who cares about them. And I can tell that you genuinely care about Amélie and want to help her, regardless of her actions."

The tension in Amos' body lessened slightly. Ana noticed this and smiled sadly.

"As much as it pains me to say it, though…Amélie is still a threat," Overwatch's sniper sighed. "We don't know if your information is accurate, and even if she is controlled, the best we can do for her—and everyone on Talon's hit list—is to put her out of her misery."

Amos frowned as a familiar pain ravaged his heart. Just like Tracer, Ana had donned the mask of someone sympathetic to his desires, only to stab the knife into his back and twist it like a drill. The cut wasn't as deep this time—he was more expecting of it—but it nonetheless poured salt into the previous wound. After a moment to take a deep breath, he set his unfinished tea on the small table at the foot of Ana's bed.

"This conversation's going to go in circles, isn't it?" Amos remarked as he stood up. "I should probably get going, if that's the case. No point in making people spin their wheels."

"But, Amos—"

"All right, then," Ana nodded calmly, cutting off Tracer's protest. "Take care, Amos. It was good getting to know you."

"Yeah, sure," Amos rolled his eyes as he put his helmet back on and left without another word. Tracer reached out a hand as if to stop him, but Ana gently touched her shoulder.

"Let him go," the former captain advised. "I think what he needs is a little time to sort things out."

"I guess," Tracer sighed, plopping her depressed cheeks into her hands. Ana gave her a warm smile.

"You were right about him, you know," she said. "He's a nice young man. More lost than the moon in winter, but a nice young man."

Tracer smiled in acknowledgement, but still looked mournfully out the door.

"Don't worry yourself, I'm sure he'll come around someday," Ana assured her. "Why not help me finish off this tea in the meantime?"

* * *

" _Winston, there is a point-oh-seven percent increase in your neural activity and a one-point-two percent increase in your heart rate_. _It is recommended that you_ —"

"Thank you, Athena," Winston groaned and continued tinkering with his barrier projector. He had checked it at least four times over for damage sustained in recent battles, but despite the projector's humble origins as a malfunctioning savior from Reaper's assault on the Watchpoint, the device was fine.

The ape sighed. It may not even have been imperfections in his work that he was worried about. After all, what kind of person would _want_ to see two mutual friends going at each other's throats? And how long before things escalated into something drastic?

A light knock at his door drew the ape's attention, and he soon found the Talon grunt in question standing in the doorway.

"Hey," Amos raised a hand in greeting. "Um…you mind if I just kind of—I don't know—sit here for a little bit? I'd like to be somewhere a little more quiet, and it's—well, I wouldn't really call it 'quiet' out there. You know, with Reinhardt and Tina running around."

As if on cue, a calamitous crash could be heard from outside, followed immediately afterward by a string of baleful swears from Tina.

"Uh…no, I don't mind at all," Winston shook his head and tried to shake away some of his worries with it. "Make yourself at home. Sorry it's such a mess in here, I-I wasn't expecting company."

"Honestly? I've seen worse," Amos shrugged. He found a seat on the edge of Winston's desk, where he pulled one of his sticky grenades from one of his pouches. "Don't mind me, just…messing with my gear a little bit."

"Like I said, I don't mind," Winston waved the Talon grunt's concerns aside. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask; where exactly did you get that arsenal of yours?"

"Oh, these?" Amos held up his grenades. "I just threw this stuff together for a school project once. Mixed a few chemicals together, compressed them into a little ball, and…now I have little grenades that spray out super glue."

"That's awesome!" Winston cried, his smile evolving from one of casual friendliness to one of child-like excitement. Amos, however, cringed a bit at the enthusiasm in the gorilla's voice.

"It's…really nothing special," the grunt insisted. "It's not really any good unless I can actually, you know…hit something with it. Same with my wraps and smoke bombs, to tell you the truth."

"The fact that you made all of these things yourself while you're barely older than Tracer says a lot, though," Winston nodded. "Speaking of whom, how did things go with—"

"Horribly," Amos interrupted flatly, immediately going back to his tinkering.

Silence descended. Winston's smile faded. He shifted awkwardly in his tire.

"I, uh…I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Um…if it's not too much trouble, I'd, uh…like to know what happened. You don't have to give any sensitive details or anything," he added hurriedly. "I'm just...well, if at all possible, I'd like for there to not be any bad blood between our people."

"Yeah, that would affect mission performance, wouldn't it?" Amos sighed. "Long story short…I want to try and undo my Talon friend's neural conditioning, but Tracer thinks it's a bad idea because she hates my friend's guts and thinks that everyone in Talon _chose_ to be a raging lunatic."

His grip on his gear tightened as he spoke. Winston remained silent, listening patiently as Amos heaved another sigh.

"I only agreed to talk to Tracer in the first place because she said she wouldn't judge," Amos grimaced. "She lied to my face."

Silence fell upon the two once more. Winston took a moment to push up his glasses before speaking.

"I…have to admit, this _is_ a difficult situation," the gorilla began. "But it sounds like you both have some valid points. Not that wanting to help your friend is a bad thing, mind you, but we've only just gotten Overwatch back up and running, on crutches at that. We're nowhere near equipped to give your friend the proper psychological help she'll need, regardless of whether or not we want to."

Amos let slip a disappointed sigh, but nodded. "All right…I can accept that."

Winston nodded, as well. "As for Tracer…believe me when I say that we all know she's a bit impulsive, and more often than not doesn't think things through before taking action. But, she really does want to help, even if she makes mistakes in the process."

"'Mistakes'," Amos repeated bitterly, nose still buried in his gear. "Right."

Winston frowned, then heaved himself out of his tire. "Excuse me for a moment."

He lumbered over to a shelf and picked off a book, eyes lighting up briefly at the sight of it. The gorilla then returned to his desk.

"One year, back at the Horizon colony…Dr. Winston gave me this book," Winston said as he handed it to Amos.

The grunt looked over the golden letters scrawled on the cover. " _Journey to the West_? Why this?"

"Imagination is the essence of discovery," Winston smiled. "That's what Dr. Winston always told me, and it's become something of a creed I live by. Inspiration for the latest and greatest innovations can come from anywhere, even the pages of classical fiction. And it's the kind of worlds we find in stories—peaceful worlds where no one lives in fear—that we were striving for, even back then."

"I used to read a lot of fantasy stories, too," Amos nodded sadly. "Always wished the real world could be like that."

"But, that's just it," Winston put a hand on the grunt's shoulder. "Don't accept the world for what it is; see it for what it could be. That goes for people, too."

Amos looked at him. "Did your doctor say that, too?"

"All the time," Winston chuckled. "Tracer isn't perfect by a long shot, but none of us are, and she does mean well. Give her a chance to prove it."

The Talon soldier quietly looked down at the book in his hands before returning it to Winston. Before the ape could put it back on the shelf, however, Athena's screens flared to life.

" _Winston, our satellites are picking up significant Omnic activity in Giza,_ " the AI declared. " _Helix Security forces are on the scene, surrounding the local Omnium_."

Amos blinked. "Um…Winston?"

"It's sounding a little too familiar to me, as well," the ape nodded grimly. "We're going to mobilize and investigate. Meet us in the hangar as soon as you're ready."

"Wait, what?" Amos sputtered. "You're bringing me?"

"Of course," Winston replied with an encouraging smile. "You're one of us, now."

He lumbered out of the lab, leaving Amos to stuff his equipment back into the pouches from whence it came. An apprehension as familiar as the situation welled up within him. This was the sort of thing the mad Omnic from months ago had done. But, Tracer had seen to it that he would trouble no one anymore; could someone else be following in his footsteps? Amos shuddered at the thought. So many bodies had been ripped into pieces by one Omnic's plans; what kind of harm could someone else, possibly even _more_ volatile, inflict upon the average innocent?

What if Amos died in the struggle to stop this new Omnic ringleader? Only Genji seemed remotely interested in saving Amélie; who was going to help her if Amos wasn't around to?

He gave his head a shake. According to Winston, Amos was Overwatch now. He had to swallow his fear and save lives, just like he did in Talon. With this in mind, he prepared to do so.

* * *

Winston stood at the door of the _Orca_ , awaiting the assembly of operatives. Amos came first, his handgun and gear stashed on his person. Reinhardt and Ana followed shortly afterward, with Tracer lagging behind.

"So, you're going to be coming with us, are you?" Reinhardt sneered at Amos.

"Uh…well, I mean, Winston said it was okay, so—"

The German knight leaned down and glared viciously at him. "I've got my eye on you, Talon."

Once his threat was in place, Reinhardt boarded the ship.

"Don't worry about him," Ana spoke up. "He'll be too busy charging headlong in the thick of things to pay you much mind."

"I really hope you're right about that," Amos sighed. He looked around at the assembled faces, finding two missing. "Where are Genji and Tina?"

"They'll be staying behind for this mission," Ana answered. "Her form is a mess, and he's the perfect choice to give her some pointers in hand-to-hand combat."

 _Oh…great,_ Amos thought, fighting a lump in his throat to give Ana a nod. _Would've been nice to work with the one person around here who might actually be on my side._

"Oi, Amos!" Tracer called, waving a hand to him from the back. "Can we talk for a sec?"

The grunt in question was tempted to turn her down again, but he could feel Winston's expectant gaze digging into him. He relented with a sigh.

"Fine," he grumbled as he trudged over to Tracer. "Let's get this over with."

She nodded. "Listen…I really don't agree with you about you-know-who, and I still think you should give up on her—" Amos rolled his eyes and turned to leave again, but Tracer quickly grabbed his arm. "But, that doesn't excuse how I acted yesterday. I shouldn't have lost it with you, and I'm _really_ sorry if I made you think I abused your trust. I swear I didn't mean to."

Amos held his tongue for a moment. He didn't want to just "forgive" her, to pretend as if her knife-like words had left no scars. He wished the time-hopper would stop clinging to her anger and give Widowmaker—no, give _Amélie_ —a chance. He didn't want to "forget" the problem, he wanted to _address_ it so that it would no longer even _be_ a problem.

But, Winston was still looking on, as was Ana. Amos clenched his jaw hard enough to crush a rock between his teeth. Clearly, _he_ was the only one expected to let go of any anger, while Tracer's hatred would only be encouraged. And the people of Overwatch would inevitably keep harping on having him "give her a chance" until he finally caved in and gave them the blissful ignorance they craved.

Tracer briefly scratched her head. "Soooo…we okay, love?"

Amos turned his words over in his head for a moment before answering. "I'll have your back in a fight. But, I'm never talking to you about anything personal to me again.

He knew that wasn't what she was hoping for, but it was the best he was willing to give; he had learned his lesson. As expected, her face fell for a brief second before perking right back up.

"Well…okay. That's fair," she nodded. "I, uh…I'm going to try and do better from now on. I'd like to try and win at least some of your trust back."

Amos waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, great. Can we get going now? I'm pretty sure there are people where we're going who might need help."

"You got it!" Tracer sprang into a salute, then blinked straight past him and into the cockpit.

Amos heaved yet another sigh as he boarded the _Orca_. Giza was the home of a security officer with a hatred of him matched in size and ferocity only by her colossal collection of armor-mounted missile launchers. He was traveling there on a ship filled with people who could (and, in some cases, did) pull the rug out from under him at the first opportunity. His only real ally, in any sense of the word, was a half-machine ninja who was going to be left behind at the base.

 _Yep_ , Amos thought as he fastened himself in. _I am going to die._


	11. Chapter 11: Reborn

Chapter 11: Reborn

Tina narrowed her eyes. "So, the hag stuck me with the green cyborg ninja dude?"

Genji found it hard to suppress a chuckle as he took a stance across from Tina, just a few feet away. The two were surrounded by the Watchpoint's training facility, where the walls were lined with inactive white-and-blue training bots and the occasional martial arts weapon. Tina's staff was already in her hand, as was Genji's sword.

"Indeed," the cyborg ninja in question replied. "Captain Amari seems to think you need instruction in close-quarters combat."

"I don't give a shit what she thinks!" Tina spat venomously. "She doesn't own me!"

"Nonetheless, I never say no to a new sparring partner," Genji mentioned, running his eyes down his blade. He flicked his wrist, and flipped _Ryū Ichimonji_ into a defensive position as he took a fitting stance. "Show me what you can do."

Tina grunted and picked up her staff, recklessly charging forth with teeth bared in a snarl. She entered into her usual wild frenzy of swings, but in seconds she found a metallic foot sweeping her own out from under her, dropping her body onto the floor with a sickening smack.

"You certainly have enthusiasm, I'll give you that," Genji remarked.

His opponent snarled, not even bothering getting up before lashing out again. This time, Genji simply caught her staff in his hand.

"Your movements have no specific technique, and you could teach Miss Oxton a thing or two about impulsiveness," he observed. "You mustn't rush in and let fate sort things out."

"And why the hell not, you big honkin' can opener?!" Tina spat out a wad of blood.

"Because I did the same thing once," Genji answered, placing a hand over his steel chest. "And, as a consequence, my body was ripped apart by the man I was fighting. That is how I became the 'green cyborg ninja dude' you see now."

Tina blinked, propping herself up with her staff and pushing herself to her feet. "…you're serious?"

Genji nodded. "It was almost a decade ago that my brother nearly took my life. I have learned much since then."

The girl from Ilios bit her lip. Her grip on her staff tightened, but this time it was from something other than anger. "Didn't know you had that kind of family."

"I am no longer considered part of my family's clan," Genji replied. "As for you…I am told you have no family."

"That's more of the hag's bullshit," Tina snorted. "The family I had was the other kids I grew up with, stealing for that artsy guy. They taught me a lot of what I know now. _They're_ the family I want to have, not something run by the local geezers."

Genji chuckled again. "We all have a place we feel we belong, even if we can no longer go there. The trick is to try and find another. Truthfully, when I first came into Overwatch's hands, I felt no differently about them than you do."

Tina looked up in surprise. "Really? Thought everyone but me just fawned all over the pricks."

"Perhaps," Genji smirked, "but the reason they restored my body was not to save a life. They wanted a weapon, and in the hate I felt towards all that surrounded me, I gave it to them. The others could tell you quite a few stories of my…unpleasantness."

"Oh, I want to hear that," Tina snickered.

"There will be time for that later," Genji smiled beneath his mask. He held his sword back up. "For now, our battle continues."

* * *

" _Now entering: Giza, Egypt_ ," Athena announced over the _Orca_ 's speaker system.

Winston left Tracer to the cockpit as he lumbered over to the rest of the crew, looking over the motley assembly before him. Reinhardt had stayed close to Ana throughout the flight while also standing guard by the doors, ready to leap out at the first opportunity. Amos sat opposite them, quietly huddled in a corner seat.

Feeling the ship gradually slowing down, Winston gave a cough. "Uh, all right, everyone! I have something I'd like to say before we disembark."

The crew gave him their attention. Winston cleared his throat again before speaking.

"So," he began, "this will be our first mission as a sizeable group. I know some of us are a little new to this, or just getting back into the swing of things. And, there's also the fact that, since this _is_ our first mission together, there will inevitably be some bumps in the road as we figure out how to work as a team."

He paused, looking to each of his teammates in turn. Then, he smiled.

"But, I'm confident we'll be just fine," the gorilla continued. "We've got the right stuff, and no matter how we got here or where we came from, we're all here for the same reason. And I'm looking forward to working with you…each and every one of you."

"Well said, my friend!" Reinhardt cheered, raising his hammer high. "To honor! And _glory_!"

Amos, however, could only frown. The more time he spent with the agents of Overwatch, the less faith he had in their encouraging speeches and messages of hope. Now that he had seen both sides of war, putting his heart into only one was near-impossible.

Soon, the ship came to a halt, and the door parted to reveal the arid sands of Egypt.

"Ah…it's good to be home," Ana smiled as she stood up. She pulled what seemed to be a black-and-blue mask out from the folds of her cloak and allowed it to engulf her face.

Amos raised an eyebrow. "I feel like I've seen that mask before."

"I imagine you have," Ana replied rather nebulously. "It seems to be a bit notorious these days."

She then departed into the desert, alongside Winston and Reinhardt. Amos sighed and checked his gun, ensuring it was actually loaded this time, and took one step towards the door.

"Hey, Amos?" Tracer had flipped out of the cockpit and was immediately by his side.

He froze in his tracks, an irritated hiss escaping between his teeth. "Yes?"

The one-time pilot winced at his annoyed tone, but she quickly shrugged it off.

"I just…wanted to let you know you can still call me if you need any help," Tracer said. The boisterous energy typically found in her voice wasn't there, replaced by a more serious and solemn tone. "I know I'm not really your favorite person right now, but…I'll still be there for you."

"All right, then," he grunted with a roll of his eyes.

Concern flickered through Tracer's eyes at the skepticism in his voice, but she masked it with the friendliest smile she could muster.

"Okay. Just making sure we're on the same page," she said. "Shall we get going?"

Amos shrugged, and the two stepped out into the sands. Soon, the pair caught up with the others as they drifted through the Giza marketplace.

The last time Amos had been to Giza, he had been tasked with breaking into Helix Security's facilities to mine for data. Having come in the dead of night, no one had been around to see him. But, it was daytime now, and the bazaar was packed. Though he stuck close to Winston and away from the crowds, Amos couldn't escape the feeling of being compressed by the sheer volume of activity.

The many stares given to the eclectic group made up of a gorilla, a knight with a giant hammer, and more did not ease his anxiety.

"We're almost there," Winston assured the group. "Our contact at Helix should be able to give us a full brief on the situation."

Amos' heart stopped.

"Wait, wait," he spoke up. "Please tell me you don't mean—you know…that one person? The hard-case who really wants me dead? Like, more than most people I meet seem to want me dead?"

Winston just chuckled. "Relax, I'm sure Pharah will understand your current situation."

The mask over Ana's face successfully covered the tiniest tensing of her facial muscles. She allowed her pace to slow until she reached the back of the group.

"Uh, were you not there to see the number of times she tried to blow my head off?" Amos protested.

"Ha! I like the sound of this contact!" Reinhardt guffawed.

"It'll be fine, love," Tracer smiled and put a hand on Amos' shoulder. "We all want the same thing, here. We've got this."

Amos was tempted to ask if they all _truly_ wanted the same thing, but held his tongue instead. It had gotten him in enough trouble already.

Eventually, the crew came upon a massive pyramid that looked as if it were from the future, covered in solar panels and technology rather than the sands and stone of the ancient past. This rather anachronistic facility was currently surrounded by a squadron of soldiers, each clad head-to-toe in winged armor. Winston approached one among a group of avian-themed soldiers, specifically picking out one in cobalt armor, and Amos swallowed hard.

"Ahem—excuse me," Winston cleared his throat. "I, uh…"

The soldier in blue turned around, and the lump returned to Amos' throat. It was indeed her.

"Winston?" Pharah smiled, pulling off her helmet and allowing her jet-black hair the freedom it craved. "Wow, your timing is perfect. We could really use some assistance with this."

"FAREEHA!" Reinhardt bellowed, dropping his hammer and capturing the armored woman in a bear hug. "Ha-ha, my friend! Look at you! So great and strong now!"

Pharah's smile widened as she finally escaped the knight's embrace, allowing her eyes to scan the rest of the group (sans Ana, who still lurked out of sight in the back). Her smile faded considerably when she caught sight of Amos.

"What's _he_ doing here?!" she snapped, aiming a rocket launcher the size of her arm directly at the Talon grunt. His hands shot up in an instant.

"He's with us now!" Tracer interjected. "He's defected from Talon after they left him behind on a mission!"

Pharah grimaced, but lowered her rocket launcher after receiving an affirming nod from Winston. "He's lucky we have bigger concerns right now."

"So I've heard," Winston frowned. "Would you care to enlighten us?"

"This is the local Omnium, known colloquially as the Temple of Anubis," Pharah replied, jabbing a thumb at the pyramid behind her. "I lost many good soldiers here containing a rogue God Program. Despite our extensive security, however, something seems to have gotten in and reactivated the machinery. There are no signs of physical infiltration, so we have reason to believe there's a hacker involved."

 _Hacker?_ Amos repeated in his mind, his nerves compounding. _Why do I have a bad feeling that this has something to do with Sombra…?_

"My team has secured the perimeter, so we're confident we can at least slow down whatever gets out," Pharah continued. Ana chose this moment in time to begin stepping out into the open. "What we could use from all of you is help getting inside and shutting down whatever is causing this."

The Helix officer's eyes fell upon Ana, and with a sigh of resignation, the older woman removed her mask. Pharah's jaw limply fell open.

"…Mum?" she gasped. "Is it really you?"

Ana, however, did not seem quite as shocked. Her small smile seemed forced. "Hello, Fareeha."

"Uh…okay, so," Amos began, looking from Pharah to Ana and back again. "I'm just going to stay out of this…."

He took several steps back, but Reinhardt chose to take several forward.

"What a _glorious_ day!" the knight roared as he took both mother and daughter into another massive hug.

"Aw, I was hoping for this!" Tracer grinned. "Anyone got a camera?"

A loud thump came from the doors to the Omnium.

The celebration ended abruptly. Reinhardt released the Amaris and retrieved his hammer.

"We have things to discuss later, Fareeha," Ana said rather sternly, cocking her rifle.

"Looking forward to it," Pharah nodded, donning her helmet once more.

The first thump was followed by many more, a cavalcade of metallic footsteps marching towards the door. Winston and Reinhardt took the front, shields ready. Tracer and Pharah prepped their own guns, ready and willing to use them. Amos and Ana hovered at the back of the group.

Then the doors parted, and slowly opened with a low grinding noise.

Amos nearly tumbled back in shock. The first thing out the door was a black-colored replica of Reinhardt's armor, covered in spikes and wielding a massive axe. Behind it were a number of Bastion units, blocky bodies painted in a disturbingly familiar black and blue.

"Uh, guys…?" Amos spoke up. Winston looked to him and opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

"What is this?!" Reinhardt roared, pointing a finger at his duplicate. "Who are you?! Why are you wearing Crusader armor?!"

"Um, actually, he…isn't _wearing_ Crusader armor, per se," Amos pointed out. "He…kind of _is_ a suit of Crusader armor."

The knight in gunmetal grey quickly whirled on Amos.

"SPEAK!" Reinhardt bellowed, one hand snatching Amos' vest and lifting him off his feet. "Is this another one of Talon's schemes?!"

"No! No, no, it's—"

"Reinhardt," Winston interjected. "That Omnic who attacked you in Eichenwalde, he…"

Reinhardt gasped, dropping Amos onto the dirt. "He used the data from Balderich's armor to make this—?!"

"Look out!" Pharah suddenly cried.

The robotic Crusader duplicate known as Blackhardt charged forth, bringing its axe to bear against Reinhardt. The two knights clashed at once, pushing their weapons against one another in a struggle of sheer strength. With their leader occupied, however, several Bastion units took the opportunity to convert their bodies into turret form, pointing their enormous Gatling guns at the members of Overwatch.

Winston immediately slapped a barrier generator onto the ground, surrounding the remainder of the group with a sphere of blue energy. The Bastions' bullets battered the barrier, each one single-mindedly concentrating fire.

"The barrier won't hold for long," Winston frowned. "Tracer, Pharah, try and take those Bastions out!"

Ana looked as if she were about to object, but the two younger women were already off. Tracer buzzed around the living turrets, drawing their fire away from Winston's bubble. Pharah's rockets worked alongside those of her nearby Helix allies to barrage the Bastions, each shell punching massive holes in the machines.

"More on the way," Winston remarked grimly as more Bastions began to file out of the Temple. "Amos, can you slow them down?"

"What? Uh, y-yeah, I think I can do that!" Amos stammered. He pulled out some of his sticky grenades and tossed them at the incoming Bastions. The grenades detonated, spraying slime over each of the mechanical soldiers. The affected units found their feet stuck to the floor at the very least, or with goop in their circuitry—preventing transformation into turret mode—at the very most.

"Ha-ha, awesome!" Winston laughed. "Ana, can you deal with those incapacitated Bastions?"

The sniper frowned, but complied as she put her good eye into her scope. A dart soon found its way into each Bastion's crimson eye, felling the soldiers one by one. More prepared to rush the door, but Tracer blinked into their path, shooting them a wink before dropping a small triangular device in front of them and vanishing in a flash of blue light. Seconds later, Tracer's pulse bomb went off, shattering the Bastions caught in its radius.

"Look alive, team!" Pharah cried, noticing a panel on the side of the pyramid gliding open.

Soon, another dark duplicate emerged, this one copying Pharah's armor. Though a wolfish head took the place of the bird-like visor, the machine Amos recognized as Anubis—a comrade of Blackhardt's—soared into the air just as easily as Pharah could. Compartments opened all over its armor, revealing the massive collection of rockets that seemed to come standard with Raptora suits.

Pharah's eyes went wide. "Rocket barrage incoming!"

Anubis opened fire, raining its entire arsenal down on the team. Cracks materialized in Winston's barrier as the missiles slammed into it, and a worried look crossed the simian scientist's face. A determined glint entered Ana's eye, and without even using her scope, she fired two darts into Anubis' body. Despite a lack of any organic matter to sicken with the darts' poison, the mechanical warrior's onslaught suddenly ceased as it limply fell to the earth.

"Great shot!" Winston laughed.

"No scope required," Ana smirked proudly.

Meanwhile, Reinhardt and Blackhardt continued to square off, viciously trading blows as each fought to overpower the other. Each attempt to slice or slam with each knight's respective weapon found itself blocked, and soon the two locked their weapons' handles together again.

"FOR BALDERICH!" Reinhardt roared, the rocket engine on his back igniting violently and shoving his body full-force into that of Blackhardt. The gothic machine was pushed back into the nearest wall, creating a massive crater. Reinhardt gave the mechanical minion just enough room to swing in the former's hammer, crushing Blackhardt's helmet instantly.

Finally, the mechanical advance was halted. No more units emerged, but the whirring of factory devices could still be heard emanating from within the Temple.

"Whew!" Tracer wiped her brow. "All clear, guys!"

Amos heaved a sigh of relief, but tensed back up merely seconds later. There was no way this was over so easily.

"Only one thing to do now," Winston pushed up his glasses. "It's time to investigate inside."

"Let me at the one responsible for these mockeries!" Reinhardt snarled, tightly gripping his hammer.

"Copy that," Pharah nodded. She looked over to her comrades from Helix. "Hold position out here in case more hostiles come out. I'm going in."

With yet another sigh, this one of weariness, Amos followed the group inside the Temple of Anubis. The second they all entered, however, the door shut behind them. Darkness surrounded the team, but a few lights on the ceiling flicked on.

"Um…something tells me that isn't supposed to happen," the Talon grunt remarked.

"No kidding," Pharah agreed. She put a finger to her helmet. "Pharah reporting."

All that came through her communicator, however, was static.

"Pharah to Helix, come in!"

A few seconds passed, her frown only growing.

"My communications are being jammed," stated the security officer as she lowered her arm. "Whoever's behind this clearly has complete control of this facility."

"Strange, yes. But, there's nothing I haven't seen before," Ana said flatly. "Stick together. We will complete our mission."

" _You sure about that?_ "

The voice reverberated throughout the temple, mocking tone accentuated by a British accent. Winston gritted his fangs. Tracer's skin paled. Amos gulped. All three recognized that voice.

At the very end of the room was what seemed to be a metallic sarcophagus, connected to all manner of wires from the walls. A red glow followed one wire to the top of the sarcophagus, slipping inside. Moments later, the sarcophagus slowly opened.

"Bring! It! On!" Reinhardt chanted, hammer at the ready. "I _live_ for this!"

Amos half-expected some kind of mummy-themed Omnic inside. He was half-right; inside the sarcophagus was a black-and-silver humanoid Omnic with three circular red lights on its forehead. The Omnic's empty, slit-like eyes gazed outward from beneath an ornate pharaoh's headdress, and as it unfolded its arms from across its chest, a royal blue cape fell about its figure.

The Omnic stepped out, flanked by a pair of black spheres, each with a single crimson eye. Tracer's knees shook, threatening to collapse her legs. Her throat went as dry as the desert outside, only allowing her to croak out one word.

"…Eli?"

The Omnic called Omnirex, formerly known as Eli Dror, cocked a rifle reminiscent of Reaper's shotguns. "In the flesh, Oxton."


	12. Chapter 12: Legacy

**So, uh...how about that recent bit of news teasing Doomfist? XD Even if his voice isn't Terry Crews, I'd love to see Doomfist in-game, if only because his appearance will be very useful in future stories...**

 **Anyway, let's move on.**

Chapter 12: Legacy

"Lena?" Ana blinked. "Do you know this Omnic?"

"Oh, Oxton and I go way back," Omnirex sneered, dragging his free hand across the curved bayonet of his rifle. "But, I think we've all had our fill of little reunions today."

"I thought you destroyed him!" Pharah looked to Winston and Tracer.

"Tracer did kill him," Amos pointed out. "I saw her shoot him in the chest."

"Yeah, turns out that didn't do you a load of good," Omnirex snorted. "My brain was still in one piece, and I managed to put myself back together. Now, I think it's time for some well-deserved _payback_."

He dramatically snapped his fingers, and several doors opened in the walls. More of his black-and-blue Bastion variants marched out, arm-mounted guns at the ready.

"Crazy as ever, I see," Pharah commented, readying her rocket launcher.

Amos set his jaw and stepped between the two parties, forming a wall between them with his hands. "Okay, whoa, everyone slow down!"

"What are you thinking?" Ana snapped. "Whatever that Omnic's history is, he's clearly a terrorist!"

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?!" Omnirex barked. The eyes on his two drones began to glow furiously.

"Oh, for the love of—can we just put the goddamn weapons _down_ for two seconds?!" Amos cried. He took a short breath to compose himself before turning his focus towards the megalomaniacal Omnic. "Okay, Eli? Omnirex? Whatever your name is? Look, I get what you're saying. All that stuff that happens to the Omnics in King's Row? Definitely not fair, and—well, that's putting things lightly, but still. But, listen, we don't have to kill everyone to make a change, all right? Let's just all take a breather, sit down, and we can talk this throu—"

"I WILL AVENGE MY MASTER'S HONOR!" Reinhardt roared as he steamrolled past the former Talon grunt, crashing his hammer through every Bastion in his path.

"I—wha—really?" A flabbergasted Amos sputtered, looking back to the group and gesturing to the rampaging Reinhardt. "Seriously?"

"Oh, Reinhardt," Ana chuckled, shaking her head. "We should really lend a hand, though."

Before Amos could object, Ana loaded a fresh clip of darts into her rifle and snuck to a more suitable position. Pharah was already in the air, raining down her own brand of justice upon Omnirex's minions.

"Well, negotiation hasn't worked with Omnirex before," Winston shrugged. "We may as well cut to the chase."

"Not like we have a choice at this point," Amos sighed, though he held his gun at the ready.

"Oi! This is no time to be standing around!" Tracer called, blinking to and fro with pistols blazing.

Amos heaved his latest irritated sigh, ducking behind Winston and tossing out a sticky grenade. His targets, a pair of Bastions, found their newly-immobile bodies helpless against Pharah's rockets. Most of the enemy fire, however, was concentrated on Reinhardt as he bulldozed through scores of Bastions, hammer flailing wildly as Ana's darts cleansed his wounds from existence.

"Like you didn't get on my nerves enough already," Omnirex growled. He pointed a finger at the burly knight, and a concentrated beam of light burst from each of his drones' eyes. Reinhardt quickly engaged his rectangular shield, however, allowing the beams to collide harmlessly with the barrier.

"Eli!"

The mad Omnic would have snarled if he had a mouth, the sound of Tracer's voice causing rage to permeate his mind. The British pilot materialized beside him, whipping out her pistols and opening fire, only for two small rockets on Omnirex's skeletal legs to ignite and lift the dark Omnic to safety.

"You're not killing me this time, Oxton!" her former friend snapped. He pointed a finger at Tracer and one of his drones turned its attention towards her, only for one of Ana's darts to find its way into the eye, the drone as a whole plummeting to the floor immediately afterward. "Nnngggh! Where the bloody hell do you even _find_ these annoyances?!"

Tracer was suddenly in front of him again, driving her foot into his stomach and forcing him out of the air and onto the floor.

"Just give it up, Eli!" Tracer called, aiming her pistols at him. "If you keep trying to hurt people, Overwatch is gonna keep stopping you!"

"That's right!" Reinhardt added, crushing a few more Bastions beneath his hammer. "You will face justice for your foul deeds!"

But Omnirex scoffed as he rose to his metallic feet. "'Justice'. Right."

Tracer kept her guns trained on her former friend. Winston ploughed through more Bastions, but Amos stopped long enough to look to the British time-hopper.

"Oh, no," he paled. "Tracer, don't you dare! He needs _help_ , not freaking murder! I mean, for crying out loud, he's your _friend_ , isn't he?!"

She only bit her lip. "I really wish that was still true."

Her finger squeezed the trigger. Amos reached for one of his sticky grenades, but Omnirex's remaining drone was faster. Another beam of light rushed towards Tracer, forcing her to vanish in a flash of blue before she could fire.

"You want to talk about friends?" Omnirex snorted. "Let me show you some of my newest ones!"

He raised a hand and dramatically snapped his fingers. Several sections of the walls obeyed this command, rising upward and revealing something alien in the darkness. Three centaur-like Omnics, their beastly black bodies illuminated by glowing green horns and eyes, trotted out into the factory. The massive cannon serving as each of their right arms leveled dangerously towards the team.

"The sodders in Numbani bastardized the OR-14 and called it an improvement," Omnirex sneered. "I dug through the Nigerian Omnium's blueprints, and made myself a _real_ OR-15. Go on, say 'hi' to our guests!"

The obsidian OR-15s greeted Overwatch's agents with streams of energized bullets. Reinhardt's shield blocked the nearest hostiles' assault, but the knight found himself forced back towards his comrades.

"Get behind me!" Reinhardt cried. Tracer buzzed to his side, followed shortly after by Winston, Ana, and Amos. Pharah abruptly dropped out of the sky, though her sudden descent was made safer by a last-minute use of her jets.

The Omnium's factory churned out more Bastions, these fresh soldiers quickly adding bullets of their own to the OR-15s' seemingly-endless stream. Winston gritted his teeth and placed another of his barrier generators, combining his and Reinhardt's defenses to match their foes' assault.

"We need a plan!" Ana pointed out, sniping some Bastions from within the bubble.

"Form one quick!" Reinhardt grunted. "Barrier won't hold forever!"

"I have an idea," Pharah spoke up. "Omnirex commands these Omnics like a God Program would. If we take him out, his soldiers will have nothing controlling them."

Amos blinked. "Whoa, wait, hold on! He's a kid! I mean, yeah, he has a lot of guns, but—"

"Do you have any better ideas?" Ana snapped. It was enough to cow Amos into silence.

"It's unfortunate, but it's our best option," Winston said with an apologetic glance to Amos. "Tracer, can you distract the OR-15s?"

"On it!" Tracer shot him a salute before blinking back into the fray, dropping one of her triangle-shaped pulse bombs on one of the OR-15s before whizzing over to the next one.

"Amos, I need you and Ana to keep Reinhardt stable while I go after Omnirex," the ape continued. "Pharah, you and the others will take out as many Omnics as you can."

"Consider it done," Pharah nodded. Ana raised a hand to object again, but her daughter was already in the air.

Winston's jump pack flared to life, carrying the gorilla out of the sphere and over the enemy forces. Omnirex jetted out of the scientist's path, but Winston was quick to pursue, the latter's Tesla Cannon reaching out with tendrils of lightning. Amos sighed, but set his jaw as he slapped one of his wraps onto Reinhardt's back. Ana's darts pierced the eyes of several Bastions, and even a sleep dart or two found its way into a turret-mode Bastion's body, somehow rendering the machine completely inactive.

"Get the hell away from me!" Omnirex roared, his shotgun firing in spray after spray in an attempt to fend off Winston. The ape's armor, however, allowed him to shrug off the bullets. "Mangy fur ball!"

The latest cluster of fire found its way closer to Winston's face, and while the gorilla was not seriously injured, his fanged mouth spread into a vicious snarl. The grey hue of his fur turned a bright red, the Tesla Cannon tumbled out of his hands, and his glasses slipped off the bridge of his now-flaring nose. Winston's mouth opened wide, and out came a guttural, feral roar that echoed throughout the cavernous Omnium. Amos suddenly found it incredibly hard to swallow as a chill trickled down his spine.

The beast that was once Winston lunged forth, grabbing hold of Omnirex's arm and swiftly throwing him into a wall. The aspiring despot tried to flee, but Winston's primal rage had evidently boosted his speed, allowing him to pin Omnirex down and toss the Omnic around like a rag doll. With each blow, the Omnic soldiers' movements slowed further and further.

"It's working!" Pharah cried out. "Keep it up!"

But Omnirex, battered and dented as he was, managed to roll away from Winston's latest blow. One more burst of energy from his jets lifted him to the top of his throne, where a snap of his fingers prompted a panel to open in the ceiling.

"I'm not dying again," the mad Omnic coughed before rocketing out of the opening. With their master gone, the Omnics' fire soon ceased along with their motions.

"COWARD!" Reinhardt bellowed at his foe's escape route. "STAND AND FIGHT!"

"Calm yourself, Reinhardt," Ana sighed. "I suspect we'll find him again."

By this point, Winston's rage had faded, returning his fur to its usual dark shade. He picked up his cannon, replaced his glasses, and approached the group.

"Undoubtedly," the ape nodded. His grim face cracked into a smile. "But, you know…for our first time out, I think we did exceptionally well."

"Yeah," Amos murmured half-heartedly. "Could've done worse, I guess."

Winston's smile faded somewhat. He looked to the rest of the group. "Why don't you all go on ahead? I need to talk to Amos for a second—if that's okay?" he added to the Talon grunt in question.

"I mean, you're the one in charge here," Amos shrugged.

"That's fine by me," Ana nodded, turning her eye to her daughter. "We have some catching up to do, ourselves."

"Ah, so we do!" Reinhardt laughed. He was the first to leave the Omnium, with the Amaris following suit. Tracer, however, initially went over to Amos, a frown on her face.

"You okay, love?"

"Just go," Amos said flatly. Tracer opened her mouth to speak again, but Winston held up a hand.

"I think I can handle this," the ape smiled. "You should go and make sure Ana doesn't read Fareeha too much of the riot act."

Tracer nodded, but her concerned expression remained in place even as she blinked outside. Once the rest of the group had departed, Winston cleared his throat.

"So, uh," the gorilla began, "I take it you're still not too keen on the idea of taking down Omnirex?"

"Look, I know he's doing bad things, and I know that's a problem—"

"Amos, believe me, I don't like it any more than you do," Winston said sadly. "I consider violence a last resort, but sometimes it's the only way to keep people safe. Killing Omnirex would definitely be one of the more distasteful things we've had to do, but…"

He paused for a moment.

"Well, let me put it this way," Winston continued. "What if we couldn't find another way in time to stop him from killing us all? What would stop him from slaughtering innocent people after that?"

Amos' blood ran cold at the thought. "I…I don't know, I—I'm sorry, I just—"

Winston put a hand on his shoulder. "No one is angry at you for wanting to show compassion to everyone. These are tough decisions, and no one's denying that they're unpleasant…but we have to be able to make them. Being part of Overwatch means you'll have to make these decisions on a regular basis."

"…I don't think I can," Amos mumbled.

"Everyone thinks that way when they're starting out," Winston smiled. "I know you've had a hard time adjusting to how things work with us, and—admittedly—some of us haven't been making it a very easy transition for you, but just give it some time. You'll figure out where you belong."

He gave the ex-Talon soldier one last smile before departing. "Come on. Let's go home."

Amos stood there for a moment, rolling over some of Winston's phrases in his head. To not see something for what it was, but what it could be. To figure out where one belonged. To find a place one could call home.

But, at this point, what _was_ home?

* * *

"Mum, you were gone for _seven years_! What was I supposed to do, sit and wait for you to magically come back to life?!"

The first thing that reached Amos' ears when he stepped outside was the voice of an irate Pharah. The target of the Helix officer's wrath was her own mother, whose stern gaze and disapproving frown made it clear that things were not well between the two. Amos' heart sank at the thought; he knew what that was like.

"What you were supposed to do was find your own path instead of following mine," Ana growled. "As pleased as I am to see you doing well for yourself in my absence, I refuse to see my only daughter put in the line of fire. You could have been killed no less than eight times throughout this whole ordeal!"

"But, I _wasn't_!" Pharah insisted, baring her teeth. "You taught me self-defense. Jack and Gabriel taught me how to use firearms. Dr. Ziegler taught me how to dress my own wounds. Torbjӧrn put me on the path to a bachelor's in engineering. Raptora suit or no, I'm more than capable of holding my own, Mum! What we've done today is something I've wanted for my entire life! I've always _dreamed_ of the day we would fight together!"

"Wanting a better life for you was all _I_ ever dreamed of," Ana sighed. "If Helix wants to keep you, that's perfectly fine. But my decision is final; you will _not_ be a part of Overwatch."

Before Pharah could respond, Ana turned to her comrades.

"Team? We're pulling out," the sniper ordered. "Rendezvous at the _Orca_ ASAP."

With that, the elder Amari left her child behind, a frowning Tracer in hot pursuit. Pharah reached out a hand, but Reinhardt placed one of his own on her shoulder.

"Don't listen too closely to her, Fareeha," the knight assured her. "If you ask me, you have just what it takes to fight with us."

Pharah's lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you, Reinhardt."

She paused, then took a moment to clear her throat.

"So, uh…Reinhardt," she said, a surprising nervousness overtaking her usually brisk mood. "You know, I had a poster of you on my wall when I was younger."

"I remember the poster!" Reinhardt laughed. "My hair was _amazing_!"

"Oh, _yeah_ ," Pharah nodded with an uncharacteristically hapless grin. "I-I mean, yes, it was…very long. And lion-like."

"So it was!" Reinhardt chuckled. "I hope we'll be seeing each other again, Fareeha. It was a privilege to fight alongside you!"

"The honor was all mine," Pharah smiled, though it seemed her grin threatened to be much larger than she allowed to be seen.

As Reinhardt left, Amos and Winston exchanged glances.

"Uh…are you sure this is the same person who kept trying to kill me?" Amos asked.

"Well, who knows what you'll find out when you get to know someone," Winston chuckled. "But, I think we should be going. Don't want to keep Ana waiting."

"Yeah, just…you go on ahead, I'll catch up," Amos nodded.

Winston obeyed, leaving Amos rooted to the spot. He took a deep breath, and took a few tentative steps towards Pharah. If there was a chance he could find some common ground with her—if only to make his death by her ballistics less likely—he had to take it, much as it went against his better judgment.

"Uh, hey…Pharah, right?" Amos ventured once he was close enough to her. "Um, listen, I—I just want to say I—"

Pharah's smile vanished, and in seconds the barrel of her rocket launcher was jammed into the skeletal features of his helmet.

"No, _you_ listen," Pharah growled. "I'm going to be in touch with Winston and the others, no matter what my mother says. Some of them might think you belong with Overwatch, but if I hear _anything_ about you that gives me reason to take you down, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Got it?"

"Uh—Imma—y-yeah! Yeah, I got it!" Amos stammered, throwing his hands in the air again.

The Helix soldier shot him one last glare before rejoining her allies. Amos sighed, shaking his head as he made his way back to the _Orca_.

 _This is what I get for trying to be friendly,_ he thought bitterly.

* * *

Miles away was the heart of Egypt, the city of Cairo. And the heart was bleeding profusely.

Bodies littered the city's airport, torn to pieces by bullets. The facility's security was in disarray, their checkpoints in shambles. The last moving sentient was currently boarding a plane, specifically bound for Russia.

Omnirex's gun riddled the pilot with holes, the Omnic shortly afterward chucking the body out the window like a bag of trash. Grumbling furiously, he sat down in the cockpit and tore out a control panel, twisting the wiring to his liking until the plane bent to his will.

If he was to accomplish his goals—if he was to create the Omnic-only world he desired—he needed more allies to combat Oxton's. And he knew just where to find some.

* * *

 **Quick trivia: the OR-15 units used in this chapter are sporting Orisa's Carbon Fiber skin (and, if you aren't familiar with Omnirex's brand of Bastion from back in Ripple Effect, they happen to use Bastion's BlizzCon 2016 skin...which I probably should have mentioned last chapter when they were introduced into this story. Oh, well.).**


	13. Chapter 13: Reasonable Doubt

Chapter 13: Reasonable Doubt

Several days had passed since the battle in the Temple of Anubis. Things had once again quieted down around Watchpoint Gibraltar, with little activity in the outside world requiring the team's attention. Tina was as frustrated as ever with the lack of action, but most of the others simply waved her complaints off.

Amos also made sure to keep as far away from trouble as possible, though this also included keeping his distance from the rest of the group. To that end, he had taken to eating his meals in his room, where no one could harm him and he could bother no one. This seemed to be an acceptable arrangement to some of the others, who either wished nothing to do with him or knew that he needed some space.

It did not sit well with everyone.

"Hey, Amos?" Tracer asked, catching him by the shoulder before he could sneak out of the mess hall with his latest meal. "Why not sit with us today?"

"Tracer, can we not do this again?" Amos groaned.

"Look, I know we haven't been getting along lately, but that doesn't mean you should cut yourself off from _everyone_ ," Tracer frowned. "Please sit with us?"

"For the last time, _no_."

The venom in his latest refusal seemed to slap her in the face. Her lips limply drifted apart for a second, closing long enough for her to swallow the hurt.

"Are you…still hurting from that fight we had?" Tracer asked slowly, the usual cheer voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

A pang of guilt stabbed at Amos' heart. "It's—look, it's not that today, it's—"

His eyes desperately scanned the surrounding area for some form of escape route, finding themselves on Genji as the cyborg made his way outside.

"I—I was actually going to hang out with Genji this morning," Amos blurted.

Genji stopped. Tracer looked up at the ninja, and Amos surreptitiously crossed his fingers.

 _Please don't say no,_ the Talon grunt thought. _Please don't say no, please don't say no…_

"He is right," Genji nodded.

 _SON OF A—wait, what?_

"Oh…well, okay!" Tracer forced a smile, her cheerful attitude—or at least a front resembling it—returned. "Long as you're making friends here, that's okay with me. Have fun, loves!"

She went back to her table, and Amos went over to Genji.

"Hey, uh…sorry to drop this on you like that, I—"

"It is no trouble," Genji shook his head as the two headed outside. "I know you and Miss Oxton have your differences."

"No, really, I know you didn't have to stick up for me like that," Amos continued. "I really appreciate it."

"Amos, _please_ don't worry yourself," Genji sighed. "I welcome your company."

"You…really?" Amos blinked.

"Of course," Genji nodded, a smile in his voice. "You seem nice. I'd hate to kill you."

A perturbed Amos stopped for a moment. "Uh…right."

The rest of their short journey was made in silence. Once the two were outside, each found a seat on a cliff. Genji sat cross-legged on the edge, with Amos lurking a short distance behind him (partly to avoid stumbling off the edge). The Talon grunt pulled off his helmet and, after a quick check to see if Genji wanted any portion of his meal, began to eat.

For a moment, there was silence. The sun rose into its throne of clouds once more, spreading its rays across the land and vanquishing the shadows of the night. Genji tilted his head back and let out a sigh of tranquil satisfaction.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," he finally broke the silence. "I feel…I must apologize for misjudging you when we first met."

"At this point, I'm used to it," Amos shrugged.

"Indeed," Genji chuckled.

Silence again.

"Um…Genji?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you…mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

Amos took a calming breath before speaking again. "When you were in Overwatch…did you ever meet someone named Amélie Lacroix?"

"I mostly kept to myself during that time," Genji shook his head. "Your superior's former life was one I had little, if any, involvement with."

"Oh," Amos' face fell, but his helmet obscured it. "It's okay, just…figured I'd ask, that's all. Since, right now, you're…kind of the only person around here I can talk to about her without being judged or lectured or something along those lines."

"You seem to get along well with Winston," Genji pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I used to get along with Tracer, too," Amos sighed. "Then I told her the name of the person I wanted to help, and look where that got me."

Genji nodded. More silence followed.

"May I ask you a question?" the ninja ventured.

Amos hesitated before answering. "Depends on what you want to ask."

"I want to ask what it is that draws you so…powerfully…towards Widowmaker."

The mention of her name from his hidden lips made Amos wince, the well-known dread seeping its way back into the Talon soldier's heart. He pushed himself to his feet and began to back away.

"Uh, listen, I'm not so sure I'm okay with talking about thi—"

"From what I understand, the few people you have spoken to about her are blinded by a shared grudge," Genji interjected. Amos stopped retreating, giving into his jaw-clenching habit once more as he forced himself to hear the cyborg out. How did Genji keep learning these private things? "Miss Oxton witnessed the assassination of Tekharta Mondatta. Captain Amari was very nearly added to Widowmaker's kill count. As I said before, I barely know your friend; I will have no such bias."

Amos' body relaxed by the tiniest iota, but he maintained a wary mind as he sat back down beside Genji.

"Now, tell me…what exactly is it that motivates you to seek her out?"

Amos sighed, leaning back on his hands. "I…honestly, I'm not sure how to say it. I mean, I'm not sure how to say a lot of things, but…she's just—she's one of a kind, you know? Not just because, well, she's blue—I mean, that _is_ part of it, don't get me wrong—but…hang on, let me try again."

He sighed.

"Working with her has been one of the better experiences in my life…and I can count those on, maybe, two hands at the most," Amos continued. "When my conditioning first failed, I…I was really scared. I was literally surrounded by frothing-at-the-mouth lunatics who would tear me apart if they knew I wasn't like them. And, Widow—I mean, Amélie—she could have done that…but, she didn't. She could have put me down for my life choices and, well, for being me in general…but, she didn't. In fact, after our first time working together, she walked up to me and told me that—"

A break in Amos' voice piqued Genji's attention.

"She…she told me that I could be great," Amos finished with a sniffle. "No one had told me that in so long, it just…it felt good to know that someone believed in me, you know? And she wasn't even _trying_ to make me feel good, she just…stated what she thought were the plain-and-simple facts. That's how I know…I know she really means it. I mean, she does yell at me sometimes when I screw up, but she usually tells me what I did wrong instead of just throwing insults. She doesn't have to do things like that, but…she's still the best boss I've ever had."

Genji was quiet for a moment as he processed the praise Amos heaped on his superior.

"It would seem a little support goes a long way for you," the cyborg finally said.

Amos nodded. "Yeah...I guess it does."

Silence once more.

"I, uh…I want to be there for her," Amos spoke up. "Like she was for me. That's…why I want to help her break free. I don't think anyone deserves what Talon did to her."

"Mm-hmm," Genji nodded. "Is that the only reason?"

Amos buried his nose in his food, if only to hide the pink blossoming throughout his face.

"It's the only one worth talking about," he grumbled.

"I see," Genji chuckled knowingly.

Amos' forehead fell into his palm in tandem with an exasperated sigh.

"Can we drop it, please?" the grunt asked.

"Of course."

* * *

Cinderblock-sized feet sank into the snow, one after another. A lone Bastion, sporting a faded yellow coat of paint in contrast to the black-and-blue of Omnirex's personal forces, tromped across the sea of white, its single blue eye gazing about in child-like wonder. On the machine's shoulder was a small yellow bird, sitting cozily in a nest of twigs that only added to the cluster of plant life already calling the Bastion's body home.

Flakes of white sprinkled from the clouds above. The Bastion stopped, its eye focusing upward. The snowflakes were nigh-invisible, yet the robotic soldier could tell without a doubt that _something_ was coming down. With its one human-like hand, it carefully reached out to catch that something. One such prize gently fell, followed by several others. Soon, icy confetti rained down upon the Bastion. All it could do was look up and stare.

What it saw was nothing short of beautiful.

The Bastion managed to catch a few snowflakes in its hand, but the cold metal flesh only turned them to ice. It slowly spun its torso around, ensnaring a few more. This went on for what seemed like an eternity, the Bastion continuing through the tundra beneath its feet all the while. The bird on its shoulder simply slept through its companion's celebration.

Then the sound of something other than snow underfoot could be heard. The Bastion's eye slowly turned downward. It had stepped on a freshly-plowed brick road, the kind of thing one found near human civilization. The Bastion looked around; it knew how humans reacted to its presence. It needed to steer clear.

That was when it saw the bodies.

Corpses of humans in police uniforms had been tossed across the road, blood seeping out from their wounds and trickling through the cracks in the bricks. Their bodies looked like Swiss cheese, ventilated with a plethora of bullet wounds. Their eyes, wide and empty, stared into the sky as the snow began to pile atop them.

More noise came, perking up the Bastion's audio receivers. Footsteps in the distance. A light clanking of metallic feet on brick road. The bang of a shotgun. The Bastion froze in what a passerby would call fright.

"Out of my way, meatbags!"

A voice. It sounded as if it were speaking through a metal can, like an Omnic would. But it also had a British accent, like a human would. The Bastion looked down at the carnage the voice's owner had left in its wake. Then, with a beeping sound reminiscent of a whimper, it backed away.

It had seen enough blood for a lifetime.

* * *

Down in Watchpoint Gibraltar's kitchen, Ana systematically set a collection of baking bowls across the stove. The days when she cooked for a family of three felt like a lifetime ago, but cooking for a dysfunctional family of seven (and counting) made her long for those old days.

She held back a sigh as her daughter's face crossed her mind. It was true that Fareeha was the latest in a long line of defenders; protecting others was very much in her blood. But, after all the suffering Ana had inflicted upon others in the name of justice—whatever that meant these days—it was clear that her _ḥabībti_ deserved something better than a life of death.

Perhaps what Fareeha needed was someone to settle down with. Having someone to go home to could put a damper on that recklessness of hers, and having a partner to unwind with after a long day at work would give her a greater appreciation for her life. And, of course, having grandchildren certainly wouldn't hurt.

"For the love of God, Tracer, let me go!"

A familiar whine pulled Ana from her reverie, and soon enough, its originator was dragged into the kitchen by his wrist. Tracer shot Ana a smile as she finally let go of Amos, though his immediate attempt to flee forced her to grab hold of him again.

"What a surprise!" Ana smiled. "What brings you two in here?"

"Well, we know you've been having a hard time doing all the cooking by yourself," Tracer began. She took Amos' shoulders in her hands and shoved him forward as if handing over a surprise gift. "Then we found out that Amos here knows how to cook!"

"And I really regret bringing it up," the reluctant cook in question sighed.

"Oh, don't be silly, I'd welcome the help," Ana dismissively waved her hand. "Lena, we'll let you know when lunch is ready. Go give Tina a good sparring partner until then, would you? Some healthy competition might do her some good."

"Aye-aye!" Tracer saluted before blinking out of sight and out of the reach of Amos' extended hand.

"I hate it when she does that," he groaned.

"Yes, she is off like a shot once her mind's on something, isn't she?" Ana shook her head with a smile. "So…you can cook, can you?"

"A little," Amos shrugged. "I don't really recommend my own cooking, though."

"Heh. I wouldn't recommend mine, either, to tell the truth," Ana chuckled. "Maybe if we put our heads together we can come up with something halfway-edible?"

"Not like I have a choice at this point," Amos shrugged. "Can I see what we have in the fridge at the moment?"

Ana nodded, and showed him to the appliance he requested. He pulled the door open and rummaged through the refrigerator's contents.

"Uh, let's see…ground turkey, beef, mushrooms, bread—oh, wow, it's even gluten-free," he mumbled to himself. "What else do we have…some onions, eggs…okay, I think I did a meat loaf recipe once or twice that uses a lot of the stuff we have here."

"Sounds good to me," Ana nodded. "Care to walk me through it?"

"I mean, I'll do what I can," Amos shrugged.

The two set about preparing the dish, with Amos relaying instructions from the recipe saved on his phone. He plopped some mushrooms into a frying pan and cooked them in a helping of canola oil, giving the onions a similar treatment in short order. Ana, meanwhile, ground up whatever meat was still whole and distributed equally-sized portions across the various baking bowls.

"You know, you're a natural at this," Ana remarked as they worked.

"Yeah, sure," Amos said absent-mindedly. "Okay, how did this work again…the oven needs to be set at around three-hundred-and-fifty degrees, and if this one works anything like the one I had, it'll need some time to heat up."

"Done," Ana flicked a switch and activated the oven. "I mean it, though, you're clearly an experienced cook. Is this what you did for a living before you got wrapped up in Talon?"

"I did whatever made me money and didn't need a degree," Amos replied with a tinge of bitterness as he crumbled bread. "Can we stop getting off-topic, please?"

"Oh, give me a break, child. It's just conversation," Ana rolled her good eye. "Is talking with us really going to kill you?"

"Well, it's been killing me so far," Amos deadpanned.

"Don't be so dramatic," Ana groaned indignantly. "Listen to me; none of us is here to tell you the things you want to hear. We're not superheroes, we're soldiers. We are here to establish peace and keep people safe from organizations like Talon. Fighting for the greater good requires sacrifice, and if you aren't willing to make those sacrifices, then you shouldn't be here."

Amos worriedly bit his lip; he didn't have to read too deeply into her statement to catch the veiled threat. "Noted."

"You know what I think you need?" Ana continued, her expression softening slightly. "I think you need to find someone new. Amélie is certainly pretty, to be sure, but she's hardly worth chasing down."

Her assistant simply hid a roll of his eyes beneath his ever-present helmet.

"Tell me, what sorts of women are you into?"

"Okay, Ana, seriously," Amos protested. "This is getting into territory that I'd really rather not talk about, especially not with somebody else's mother."

"Well, you know what they say; mother knows best," Ana smirked. "All things considered, you seem like a nice fellow: you're sensitive, considerate, compassionate, Lena tells me you have a delightfully sarcastic sense of humor…"

"And none of those have done me much good lately," Amos interjected flippantly.

"Honestly, child, do you have _anything_ good to say about yourself?" Ana huffed.

He shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Well, I think I know just the person to help pick you up," Ana smiled. Amos quietly rolled his eyes again as he sprinkled the bread crumbs into their servings. "You've met my daughter Fareeha, haven't you?"

All of a sudden, Amos dropped whatever bread crumbs were still in his hands. He turned to stare at her, mouth hanging open in a mixture of pure shock and even purer horror.

"I-I'm sorry, _what_?!" he nearly shrieked. " _Please_ tell me you're not planning on playing matchmaker with me and her!"

"Why not?"

"Um, because that's the worst idea I've heard in a long time, and I've had _plenty_ of bad ideas!" Amos cried. "You're aware she wants me dead, right?"

"She just hasn't had the chance to get to know you like the rest of us have," Ana replied, depositing several egg yolks into the recipe as she spoke.

"She doesn't even _want_ to know me."

"Oh, you give up far too easily," Ana sighed, taking her turn to roll an eye. She held up one of the remaining eggs. "See this? Fareeha is like this egg. She might seem to have a hard shell, but once you crack it and get to see what's inside…"

She demonstrated by extracting the latest yolk and adding in the final pieces of their culinary puzzle.

"Uh, yeah, this is a nice metaphor and all, but…last I checked, most eggs don't carry more rocket launchers than the human body has cells," Amos said.

"Then I'll get her to leave them at home," Ana smirked. "I think you and Fareeha would be a good match if you give yourselves a chance."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Amos sighed. Before Ana could scold him for his lack of perfect compliance, he raised a hand to stop her. "Okay, we have all our ingredients in, and the oven's ready. Let's just get these things baked."

* * *

A few hours later, Ana and Amos exited the kitchen, each with a slew of meat loaf plates in each hand. The rest of the Watchpoint's crew, realizing that lunch was imminent, quickly crowded around a table.

"Aw, wow, it smells so good!" Tracer grinned, closing her eyes and basking in the scent.

"I think I might forego my usual diet for this," Winston chuckled.

Tina said nothing, grinding her teeth together impatiently as she clutched the knife and fork that Ana had insisted she use over her hands. Genji quietly removed the bottom half of his mask, revealing the partially-scarred mouth underneath.

"It's ready, everyone!" Ana announced.

"Ha-ha, excellent!" Reinhardt laughed. "Let's dig in!"

Amos and Ana distributed the meat loaf servings, and in seconds, the agents were hungrily devouring the delicacies before them. Per his usual routine, Amos took his serving and prepared to slip away to his room.

"Where are you off to?" Ana abruptly asked him. "This is your dish. You should share it with us."

"Yeah! Come join us, love!" Tracer added. Half of her serving was already gone. "You guys did great, by the way! This is fantastic!"

Amos shook his head with a sigh and prepared to leave again.

"I agree!" Winston chimed in, prompting Amos to stop. "This might actually get Athena to stop bothering me about my nutritional intake for once!"

"Hey, uh," Tina spoke up, holding out a plate filled only with scattered crumbs. "You got seconds?"

Even Reinhardt seemed to approve, throwing his fist in the air. "This is the meat of champions!"

Genji was eating noticeably less—likely due to the composition of his body—but he nonetheless gave Amos a thumbs-up sign.

"See?" Ana smiled, placing a hand on Amos' shoulder. "We're all friends here. Come celebrate your skills with us."

But Amos winced nervously. One or two compliments would have simply rolled off of his back; a compliment from everyone present was something else. He could feel a bit of heat in his face, which only intensified when he saw how readily the crew helped themselves to what _he_ had helped to make.

Before he could finalize a decision, Ana was already dragging him to a spot at the table beside Tracer. Amos had a sneaking suspicion that they had planned it this way, especially when Tracer turned to him with a massive grin on her face and crumbs stuck to her lips.

"This stuff is bloody brilliant!" she declared. She threw her free arm around his shoulders and pulled him into as tight a hug as she could manage. "I knew you'd be great!"

Amos' face was starting to feel like the sun he and Genji often enjoyed watching, which he took as a cue to finally remove his helmet and actually eat. The loaf did taste delicious, and the praise his comrades were suddenly determined to heap on him somehow made all of his and Ana's efforts seem worth it. There were now smiles where there were once suspicious glares. There was now encouragement where there had once been dismissal.

It felt good.

"Hey, Amos?" Tracer hissed in his ear while Reinhardt's raucous voice took up most of the table's conversation. "Could I say something real quick?"

The Talon grunt, given the food in his mouth, simply shrugged. Tracer evidently took it as an affirmative.

"I just want to say I'm sorry again," she began. "You've had a really rough start here, and we weren't doing much to make it better…especially me."

The rate of Amos' chewing slowed down somewhat. Most of the group failed to notice, being distracted by Reinhardt and Tina's competition of who can down their beverage of choice the fastest. Tracer's typical grin returned, as did the increased volume in her voice.

"Thanks for helping make this, Amos!" she chirped. "It's really good!"

"Tracer...you've said that, what, five times, now?" Amos sighed.

"It bears repeating," Ana assured him. "I think our dish turned out quite well."

"How come we're still not on a first-name basis, love?" Tracer asked. "You're really one of us, now."

"I-I mean…a lot of you have been heroes of mine since I was little," Amos explained. "Calling you all by your first names like we're friends just…feels weird."

"There's no more need for formalities at this point," Winston smiled. "Like Lena said, you're part of our family."

"How true," Ana nodded. "Maybe when we get some more funding, we can get you a new uniform to look the part? It's past time you left Talon behind you, anyway."

A few months ago, Amos would have agreed wholeheartedly. A few months ago, Amos would have been thrilled to be fully accepted as a member of Overwatch's eclectic family. But, today, he just gave a half-hearted nod. Today, a small voice from the back of his mind whispered warningly to him.

 _How long will this last?_

These people had led him on before. Tracer had donned the mask of a supportive friend to learn of his weakness for Widowmaker, then used that confidential information to rip his heart asunder. Ana had wormed her way into his good graces just long enough to stamp him and the compassion she had just praised beneath her heel, and given their conversation in the kitchen, she was more than willing to keep doing so for his "benefit". Genji had been supportive, but his knowledge of private conversation topics gave Amos pause for thought. What about Winston? How long did he plan on being Amos' most consistent advocate? How soon did the ape plan on destroying him?

And then there was the most important concern: what was going to happen to Widowmaker—to _Amélie_ —if Amos stayed in Overwatch? Her situation was a clear grey area, yet the entirety of Overwatch was blind to it. Winston was the only one who didn't know that the blue-skinned sniper was the apple of Amos' eye; what if he found out? That knowledge had turned Tracer against him, and Ana had also made sure to exploit it. Both were dead set on killing Amélie if it meant protecting the average citizen, and if Winston didn't see the need to try and lessen the widow's suffering, then—

Wait a minute.

Of _course_ Winston would kill Amélie if he thought he had to. That was what he planned to do with Omnirex, someone who also wasn't in complete control of his actions. The idea of the gorilla's Tesla Cannon serving as an electric chair was disturbingly easy to imagine.

Ana was right about one thing; Overwatch was not made up of heroes. It was built from soldiers, iron-hearted warriors who killed and died for the express purpose of protecting the people. After all, the enemy was the enemy. There was no time or place for empathy, no reason to look beyond the cut-and-dried.

Overwatch would not save Amélie. She didn't need a soldier, she needed a hero. If she couldn't free herself from Talon's thrall, she needed a knight in shining armor to offer a hand.

Unfortunately, her only option was Amos Clemens, her squire in rusty and heavily-dented armor. He would have to suffice.

A thunderous clap snapped Amos back to reality as Reinhardt's lion-themed mug dramatically slammed onto the table, drained of whatever drink it once held. Tina's mug followed suit, though the impact spilled out some of its contents.

"You cheated!" the street urchin panted. She had apparently held her breath while trying to out-drink the Crusader.

"This old dog still knows a few tricks!" Reinhardt said proudly. "I will not be bested so easily, little one!"

"Gimme another round!" Tina snapped. "I'll put you under the damn table this time!"

" _I suggest you put your competition on hold_ ," Athena interjected from the wall-mounted speakers. " _Sightings of a black-colored Omnic are coming from Russia._ "

Tracer's eyes went wide. "It's Eli."

"Or one of his soldiers," Winston added. "Either way, it's worth investigating."

"Last one there has to clean up here instead!" Tracer called before buzzing off like a shot.

The rest of the crew took that as their cue to leave. A half-drunk Tina stumbled out first, Genji dashed out second, and Winston lumbering out third. Ana and Amos exchanged glances, with the former making an "after you" gesture. The Talon grunt shrugged and left, going at a significantly slower pace than his racing comrades.

"Sorry, Reinhardt," Ana smiled. "Guess that leaves you on dish duty."

"What?" Reinhardt sputtered. "I must defeat that monstrous Omnic for the glory of my mas—"

A sleep dart found its way into his arm, sending the knight off to the land of dreams.

"Settle down, old man," Ana shook her head. "Going so gung-ho in Russia will cause more problems than it will solve."

With that, she left her fellow founder behind as she made her way to the hangar.

* * *

A short time later, the _Orca_ touched down in the snows of Russia, just outside the sprawling company known as Volskaya Industries. Cold air swept through the ship the second the door was opened. Amos huddled himself, shivering. Never had he been so thankful to Widowmaker for pulling some strings and getting him permission to wear a shirt with longer sleeves than the other grunts.

"I shouldn't overstay my welcome," Ana mentioned. "I'm probably still on the watch list here."

"Ha! Not so much a goody two-shoes after all, are you, hag?" Tina snorted.

"It's not even remotely like that," Ana sighed. "Even during the Omnic Crisis, Russia has consistently refused Overwatch's aid. They did manage to fight off the Omnics on their own, but…things are different now."

"How so?" Genji spoke up.

Ana shot a quick glance to Amos before continuing.

"Not long ago, Talon tried to assassinate Volskaya's CEO, Katya Volskaya," she explained. "They failed, but I've heard tell that Volskaya hasn't forgotten. Security has doubled since the attack. For this mission, we'll need to tread lightly; Russia has never taken kindly to the thought of needing help."

"Good to know," Winston nodded.

Amos raised his hand. "Uh…can I join you all in a minute or two? I've, uh…my phone's been bugging me about something the whole way up."

Genji turned his head suspiciously, but said nothing.

"Sure. Just try and deal with it quickly, all right?" Winston advised. "It's best if we all stick together as a group."

The crew, sans Amos, headed outside. The Talon grunt waited a few moments, watching his teammates' fading backs, before stepping out the door as well. The team passed by a massive library on the way to Volskaya Industries, but Amos ducked inside it. He took a second to look around, making sure no one—not even Athena—was listening.

Then, he put a finger to his helmet's communicator.


	14. Chapter 14: Strength in Numbers

**We're in the home stretch, now; only a couple chapters left before Bezold Effect concludes. Thanks again to everyone who's read along, especially if you stuck around after Ripple Effect. Even if it's just a few readers, it makes me happy when I know that someone enjoys what I write.**

 **Now, let's get this ball rolling.**

Chapter 14: Strength in Numbers

Having finished his call, Amos hurried to catch up with the rest of the group. By the time he arrived, however, he was beginning to wish that he hadn't come.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of death. Corpses chock-full of bullet holes littered the floor of Volskaya Industries. Some of them were guards clad in heavy olive coats and fur-lined hats, their guns scattered about in disarray. Others were dressed in civilian garments, evidently victims of the crossfire.

The second thing he noticed was the sound of war. Every kind of shot imaginable, from the rattle of Gatling guns to the deafening booms of rocket launchers, echoed across the land. Screams and explosions filled the air, weighing it down around him. Amos gulped as dread surged into his heart once again. He was to follow Overwatch into this mess, into a nightmare from which he would surely not return.

But he gave his head a shake. No more of that line of thinking. He _had_ to make it out of this madness, and not just for his sake. All he needed to do was figure out _how_.

"Oi! Amos, over here!"

Tracer's cockney-accented voice pulled the Talon grunt's focus to his comrades, the entire group crouching just outside the brick gateway into Volskaya Industries. She waved him over, and he slipped behind the crew.

"Nice of you to join us," Ana said dryly.

"Everything taken care of?" Winston asked.

"Yeah, I think I'm all set," Amos nodded. Silently praying that no one would ask for elaboration later, he spoke up again. "What's going on?"

"Russia is in the middle of a second, smaller Omnic Crisis," Ana replied. "And it seems we've stumbled upon their latest battle for survival."

A rhythmic clanking seemed to illustrate her point as a cadre of Bastion units—this time bearing a rusty orange shade to their armored bodies—marched in unison on the company guards, ruthlessly mowing them down like the wooden ducks one would find in a carnival shooting gallery. The remaining guards fell back, with their mechanical tormentors methodically chasing them down. Amos cringed when he beheld the blood-spattered snow; a sudden queasiness had taken hold of his stomach.

"One Crisis was more than enough," Ana said grimly. "We need to stop Omnirex here and now."

Amos, however, found the sickening of his stomach only worsened at the thought of killing someone in such obvious need of legitimate mental help.

"The only difficulty I can see is that Russia's forces—as you pointed out earlier—may not be willing to accept Overwatch aid," Winston remarked. "Especially given our…fugitive status."

"That sort of thinking didn't stop us when Null Sector took over King's Row, and it won't stop us now," Ana replied.

"Yeah! So, what are we waiting for?" Tracer cried. "Let's get going!"

Amos sighed and tagged along in the back as the group rushed headlong into the fray. Tracer immediately buzzed up behind the Bastions and dropped a pulse bomb, vanishing just as the bomb went off and decimated a chunk of the machine soldiers' rear guard. While most organic warriors would scatter at this sort of threat, the Bastions remained steadfast, doing an abrupt about-face and turning their weapons on the agents of Overwatch.

"Amos, Ana, stay within the barrier for now!" Winston ordered, setting down one of his barrier projectors and allowing it to do its work. "Tracer and Genji, I'll need you to draw their fire while Tina and I finish them!"

"Very well," Genji replied calmly, drawing his blade and dashing up a nearby wall. Once he judged his height sufficient, he vaulted off the side and brought his blade down on a pair of Bastions, _Ryū Ichimonji_ 's hungry lashes forming an X-shaped pattern.

As Winston had hoped, the Bastions focused their fire on the two agile agents who pestered them the most. Tracer's quick shots, coming from various directions, kept the machines' attention long enough for Tina to pole-vault into the fight and drive the butt of her staff into a Bastion's eye. Winston's jump pack carried him upward, only for the gorilla to plummet onto the enemy forces like a warhead, leaving behind just as much devastation.

"More gunfire further inside!" Winston called out. "Let's get in there!"

With the ape's barrier bubble fading away, Amos and Ana followed the rest of the group deeper into the heart of Volskaya Industries. Machinery towered over them in the form of mechanical arms, each one lifting up giant objects to be ferried across hovering platforms. But what Tina noticed was something different; a series of massive humanoid devices with widow screens for faces.

"Whoa, the hell are those things?" she asked, jaw dropping at the sight of the steel giants.

"I believe they're called Svyatogors," Winston replied. "Piloted mechs the Russian forces used to repel Omnic forces in the original Crisis."

Amos paled as a thought struck him. "Uh, Winston…you know what Omnirex likes to do with other people's technology, right? Like Reinhardt and Pharah's suits…?"

" _Mish mumkin_!" Ana gasped, her sole eye widening. "If he had an army of these at his beck and call…"

"Looks like that's what we're here to prevent," Winston affirmed. He then pointed out a finger. "There! Up ahead!"

In the direction Winston had indicated were what seemed to be the last of the Russian soldiers, headed up by a pink-haired woman with the build of a brick house. The rust-colored Bastions crowded around their organic foes like a pack of predators would surround their prey, though with every human soldier they gunned down, another Bastion fell to some well-placed bullet shots. The pink-haired woman, in particular, slew a fair number of Bastions with a massive beam fired from the colossal cannon she wielded.

"Go on, keep breaking us! Snap us in half like you always do!" yelled a familiar voice from atop a nearby truck. The group's gaze turned to find Omnirex, still dressed in his pharaoh-like livery, snarling at his Russian foes. "We'll just put ourselves back together and snap you right back! Shame your bones don't fix as well as we do, huh?!"

The pink-haired woman sneered and shifted a lever on her cannon, firing off a single dark sphere into the Bastion crowd. The sphere burst into something that looked strikingly similar to a black hole, sucking the Bastions towards it and clustering them together.

" _Ogon' po gotovnoski_!" the cannon-wielding woman called out in Russian.

Her soldiers responded to the order, letting loose with whatever bullets they had left. The now-helpless Bastions who were trapped in the black hole found their bodies riddled with bullets, but the robotic fighters adapted. A welder-like tool emerged from each of their left arms, quickly working to fix whatever wounds were inflicted. Eventually, the black hole faded away, and a number of inactive Bastions fell to the floor with a deafening clunk.

Unfortunately, an even greater number of Bastions still remained, weapons at the ready. The pink-haired woman and her Russian soldiers stood defiantly.

"Cheers, loves! The cavalry's here!"

Omnirex did a double-take as Tracer blinked above the Bastions, raining fire down upon them. Genji leapt between the Bastions and the Russians just as the machines opened fire, the ninja's sword whipping about in a frenzy and deflecting the shots that would have slaughtered the Russian soldiers like animals.

"That's still a stupid thing to say!" Tina yelled as she tossed out a hodge-podge contraption resembling three tasers strung together in a bola-like formation, the device short-circuiting the first Bastion it came into contact with. Eventually, as Ana's darts and Winston's lightning carried out their duties, the last of the Bastions collapsed in a dismantled heap.

"No, no, NO!" Omnirex roared, flailing his fists like a child before putting one finger to the side of his metallic skull. He then jetted his way onto one of the hovering platforms, allowing it to carry him away. "Gah! It's me! I need reinforcements!"

Amos simply sighed and handed Winston some of his medicinal wraps. "Could you give these to the soldiers? I mean, I'd do it myself, but, uh…not so sure they'd be happy to see me."

"Don't worry, we'll always vouch for you," Winston chuckled. Nonetheless, Amos tried to obscure himself behind the gorilla as the latter approached the Russian forces, distributing the Talon grunt's healing tool to the wounded soldiers. "Excuse us…we can tell you have the situation more-or-less in hand here, but there's something we need to—"

"You are Winston," the pink-haired woman leered. "From Overwatch."

"Uh…y-yes, that's right," Winston stammered. "You, uh, seem to have me at a disadvantage, here."

"Aleksandra Zaryanova," the woman replied. "Zarya for short. Proud soldier in the Russian Defense Forces."

"A pleasure to meet you," Winston smiled. "Perhaps, for the time being, we could work together?"

Zarya snorted. "Russia has no need of Overwatch assistance."

"Yes, we're actually quite aware of that," Winston replied as diplomatically as he could. "What we're here for is that black Omnic from earlier. He's an independent terrorist who's been targeting technological sites and stealing resources to build up an Omnic army."

Amos frowned at Winston's use of Ana's "terrorist" descriptor, but said nothing.

"Hmph! I knew there was something different about that one," Zarya growled.

"We'll have him out of your country in no-time," Winston assured her.

"We'd prefer if _you_ were out of our country," Zarya shot back. She took a moment to affectionately pat her cannon. "After all, who needs Overwatch? We can take care of ourselves!"

It was this moment that Omnirex's reinforcements chose to arrive. Scores of Bastions marched into Volskaya Industries, arm-guns outstretched and already opening fire.

"Good job so far," Ana snidely remarked, earning a glare from Zarya.

"If there's any chance you're willing to consider a temporary alliance, at least…" Winston proposed as he put down another barrier.

"With the company you keep?" Zarya snorted, her cannon launching spheres of purple energy like grenades at the Bastions. Amos cowered behind Winston, but Zarya's glare was instead focused on Genji. "How do I trust a man who is half-machine?"

The cyborg simply continued to deflect the Bastion's bullets, pausing long enough to tap his fist against his chest. "The heart of a man still beats inside of me."

"All right, we need to put whatever differences we may have aside for now," Winston declared.

"Hmm…for now," Zarya frowned. "Katya Volskaya is a hero to my people. We must protect what she has built."

"You can count on that," Winston nodded. He looked to the British brunette by his side. "Tracer, Omnirex isn't here, and you're the one most suited to stopping him before he causes too much harm."

Amos paled beneath his helmet. Tracer saluted her simian friend and dashed off, her speed taking her out of sight in seconds.

"The rest of us will hold the line here!" Winston continued.

"That we will!" Zarya nodded, thrusting one burly arm into the sky. "For the motherland! OORAH!"

Her remaining soldiers cheered in unison, and with Zarya in the lead, began to return the Bastions' fire. Their bullets were soon joined by Winston's electricity and Ana's darts, allowing the war to continue in earnest. Genji darted about, deflecting bullets and occasionally cutting down a Bastion or two that strayed too far out of formation. The ninja's constant change in position, however, allowed him to spot something amiss.

Amos was missing.

* * *

Tracer gritted her teeth as she charged through the factory, the powers granted by her chronal accelerator allowing her speed to exceed even that of the quickest Olympic track runner. In spite of this feat, however, Omnirex had gotten a head start, and the factory was enormous; it was anyone's guess where the mad Omnic had gone to.

The blue light on her accelerator began to blink, slowly fading shortly after. Lena swore under her breath as she stopped by a wall. Her accelerator's own power was not infinite, and it would need time to recharge after extensive use. Unfortunately, she noted, there wasn't time for that.

"Tracer, hold on a sec!"

Now that she had stopped, Amos was able to finally catch up, using his hand to prop himself against the wall as he pulled off his helmet.

"Amos?" Tracer blinked. "What's up, love?"

It took a moment for Amos to catch his breath and slip his helmet back on. Then, he extracted one of his sticky grenades from the pouches on his vest.

"Sorry about this."

Before Tracer could respond, Amos dropped the grenade at her feet while simultaneously taking a few steps back. The resulting detonation sprayed out all manner of slime, adhering Tracer's body to both the floor and the wall.

"What the hell, Amos?!" she shrieked. "What are you playing at?!"

"Sorry, but I can't let you anywhere near Eli," Amos shook his head.

"Are you nuts?! He's going to kill everyone—"

"And what makes you think I don't know that?!" Amos snapped. "I know what he wants to do, but everyone has a _reason_ for doing the things they do. His head's been screwed with, by what Talon put him through and by whatever else happened to him when he was human. So I'm going to try and talk him down."

"Oh, yeah, because that worked so well last time!" Tracer snorted.

"Well, it might work a little better now that we don't have a bloodthirsty Crusader to run in and mess things up!" Amos shot back. "The goop will wear off in a little bit, by the way. Just so you know."

Without another word, he turned away and ran into the deepest parts of Volskaya Industries…alone. He ignored Tracer's yells to come back, ignored the violent thumping of his heart. This was no time to give in to the threats of his peers and superiors. This was no time to give in to the fear he had felt for so much of his life. This was the time to step up, and prove that whatever Eli Dror was now—whatever name he went by—there was still something reachable in there. There was still someone worth saving.

Then, maybe then, he could prove that Amélie could also be reached. But, even if Overwatch didn't believe him, he couldn't save her while in their care. That was something else he planned on fixing.

* * *

One benefit of Omnirex's lack of sanity was that it made him rather simple to find. The sounds of mumbled ranting and raving guided Amos to a spacious room, with only himself and Omnirex residing in it. Above them loomed a Svyatogor, caged by a network of construction platforms and walkways that Omnirex was busily scurrying, all the while grumbling to himself.

Amos took as silent a breath as he could, and then opened his mouth.

"Eli?"

The mad Omnic stopped ascending the scaffolds, whirling his head around to find Amos standing there.

"Oh, bloody hell, _you_ again?" Omnirex groaned.

"Yeah, looks like it," Amos shrugged. "Me again."

Omnirex briefly turned his gaze to the path from whence Amos had come. "Is it actually just you this time, or did you bring friends again?"

"Just me," Amos replied. "Uh, speaking of friends—and this is just out of curiosity, by the way—those Bastions you were just in charge of aren't yours, right?"

"Right! They're from the Russian Omnium," Omnirex replied, climbing up to a platform he could more easily stand upon and lord over Amos from. "They're the real heroes here! No matter what tossers beat them down, they get back up! They never stopped fighting for Omnic freedom! And neither will _I_!"

He punctuated his declaration by rocketing off the platform, barreling down at Amos with drones in tow and bayonet-tipped rifle clutched in both hands. The Talon grunt yelped and tried to escape, only to be tackled to the ground as the bayonet sliced his side. Amos cried out in pain, but held in his screams as he rolled out of the way of the next few strikes. Omnirex let out a primal snarl as he gave chase, kicking the prone Amos and sending him tumbling into a wall. Amos scrambled to slap one of his wraps onto the wound, but the barrel of Omnirex's rifle found its way to his forehead.

"I haven't forgotten how you got me out of Talon way back when," Omnirex growled, pressing the rifle into Amos' helmet as the bayonet scraped the side of the grunt's head. "So, I'll give you a little something before I blow off your meatbag head: any last words?"

"Uh…just three," Amos said slowly.

"Then spit them out."

The grunt paused for a moment, subtly sliding a wrap onto his wound and allowing the chemicals to seal it shut.

"…you were right," Amos finally said.

Omnirex would have blinked were his eyes still capable of doing so. Instead, the three crimson lights on his forehead flickered slightly as he tilted his head to the side. "Come again?"

"You were right," Amos repeated. "About Tracer. Remember, back in Detroit? You said she would turn on me…and, just recently, she did. Like you said she would."

The once-vociferous Omnirex fell unnaturally silent. His rifle remained up against Amos' helmet, but its positioning twitched slightly. Amos' eyes went wide; this was his chance.

"Um…if you don't mind my asking," he began, "what exactly did Tracer do to you? Why do you hate her so much?"

Now it was Omnirex's turn to hesitate before speaking.

"…she was my only human friend when I was little. She promised she'd be there for me when I needed her," he said quietly. His constant rage seemed to have finally been quelled. "Then…because my parents took in Omnics who needed homes…people came and set my house on fire. She never bothered showing up."

"Oh, God…"

"…my parents…they didn't make it out," Eli Dror continued. "This one Omnic—this one that was like a brother to me—he got me out safe. And…and then more people came. They shot him. They shot him dead."

The lights on his forehead began to flicker more violently.

"…just like Oxton shot me in Detroit!" Omnirex roared, his wrath having returned. He pulled back his rifle and prepared to plunge the bayonet into Amos' chest.

Then a small blue laser shot the weapon out of his hands.

"Leave him alone, Eli!" Tracer cried as she blinked onto the scene.

"Are you kidding me?!" Amos balked as he pushed himself to his feet. "Tracer, you're going to ruin—"

"No more hesitation, Amos!" Tracer interrupted. "I don't like this any more than you do, but…"

She took aim at Omnirex once again.

"NO!"

Amos charged forth and grabbed her arm, pulling it back just enough to let her shot glance off of Omnirex's shoulder.

"Stop getting in the way!" Tracer yelled, ripping her arm out of his grip.

"You were going to _shoot_ him again!"

"I don't have any choice!"

"Oh, give me a break!"

"Amos, I'm serious! We don't have any better option!"

Neither of them noticed Omnirex scaling the scaffolds again. Neither of them noticed the mad Omnic slipping inside the inactive Svyatogor. Neither of them noticed his meddling with the controls, pulling out wires and rearranging them to his liking. Only when a great mechanical whir rang throughout Volskaya Industries did Amos and Tracer stop bickering long enough to look up. But, by then, it was too late.

The Svyatogor had come to life.

"DEATH TO ALL MEATBAGS!" Omnirex roared from within the Svyatogor's cockpit as the massive mech tore itself free from the scaffolding and lurched forth, lifting one colossal foot up and bringing it down upon Amos and Tracer.

The time-hopper reacted first, grabbing Amos' arm and pulling him out of the way as the foot crashed down on the spot they had once been in. The ground shook from the impact, and did so again when the Svyatogor took another step, then another. Erratic laughter could be heard from the cockpit as the stolen Svyatogor slowly made its way out into the world.

Tracer was the first to get up. "Amos—"

"I don't want to hear it!" the Talon grunt snapped.

"I was just—"

"I _don't_ want to hear your 'I-told-you-so' crap!" Amos spat, forcing himself upright. "I was able to get through to him, and then you came along to ruin everything! _Again_!"

Tracer drew back slightly. "…actually, I was going to ask if you were okay."

"…oh…um…y-yeah, I'm fine," Amos blinked, the face beneath his helmet flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry about that, it's just—"

"No, it's fine, I get it," Tracer sighed.

" _Amos! Tracer! Come in!_ " Ana's voice crackled over their communicators. " _Why is there a Svyatogor rampaging out here?!_ "

"We couldn't stop Eli from hijacking one," Tracer replied. Amos blinked; that was not the explanation he had been expecting her to give. "Winston, what should we do?"

" _Uh…we're trying to figure that out ourselves,_ " the ape replied. " _Meet us out here, Zarya might have a way to take this thing down._ "

"We're on our way," Tracer said as she ended the call. She then looked over to Amos, offering him a hand. "Ready to go?"

He didn't take the hand at first. "I…kind of thought you were going to throw me under the bus there."

Tracer gave him a small smile as genuine as she could muster. "Just because we don't agree on how to handle Eli doesn't mean I'd do that to you. And, don't worry; far as I can tell, Ana and I are still the only ones who know how you feel about you-know-who. Figure I've done more than enough to make you hate me already."

Amos pursed his lips in thought, transitioning into biting his lip when Tracer extended her hand a bit farther.

"No matter what we do with Eli, we need to take down that mech first," she said. "We can work out our differences after that. Are you with me, love?"

Amos sighed. "Fine. But I have one condition."

"Name it."

"We take him captive," Amos stated. "Or put him under arrest or—I don't know, something involving _not_ killing him. Then we can figure out what to do."

He had expected her to deny him even this, but Tracer instead gave him a nod. "If we have the chance to take him prisoner, then we'll do our best to make it happen." She held her hand back out. "I promise."

But Amos still didn't take her hand.

"Yeah, we'll see," he sighed as he headed out, leaving Tracer hanging behind him. He knew how much her promises were worth.

* * *

"Focus fire on the cockpit!" Zarya ordered. "If we can force the Omnic out, we can salvage the Svyatogor!"

Russia's soldiers obeyed, aiming their shots as high as they could. Ana joined in with shots of her own, though none of their projectiles seemed to have any effect. This left Winston to leap onto the Svyatogor's arm, and while he made a valiant effort to scale up the limb, it did not go unnoticed.

"Stupid furball!" Omnirex snarled, swinging the arm as violently as the giant's servos and systems would allow. It was all Winston could do to hold on for dear life.

"I am on my way, Winston!" Genji called out as he scrambled up the Svyatogor's leg. Tina made as if to follow, but a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back.

"You're not going up there," Ana ordered.

"Bite me, hag!"

"This is not the time for your stubborn—" Ana cut off her scolding when she saw Tracer and Amos entering the area. "There you two are! We're doing all we can, but we've got our hands full!"

Zarya briefly glanced at Amos, narrowing her eyes at the familiar visage of a Talon grunt, but Ana stepped over to her before she could say anything.

"Zarya, was it?" the old sniper asked. "What are the Svyatogor's capabilities?"

The Russian soldier shot a glare at Amos before looking to Ana. "They are designed to withstand the weapons favored by Omnic forces, as well as heavy ballistics in general. It is unmatched in sheer strength."

"What about armaments?"

"The stolen unit is unfinished," Zarya replied. "Weapon systems have not yet been installed."

"Well, that's _some_ good news, at least," Tracer remarked. "Any ideas, Cap?"

Ana peered through her rifle's scope and carefully scoured the Svyatogor's body, her goal being to spot some kind of weakness. Winston and Genji still tried to climb their way up the mech's form in spite of Omnirex's constant swatting at them.

"It seems I must agree with Zarya's assessment," Ana said finally. "Our best bet is to remove Omnirex from the cockpit."

Tracer glanced at Amos for a split-second before raising a hand. "You think we'd be able to take him alive?"

"I doubt he'll give us that chance," Ana shook her head.

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't _try_!" Amos interjected.

"Ah, you're so idealistic for someone in your position," Ana chuckled. "You remind me a little bit of our old combat medic…but that's a story for another time. Winston, Genji, do you read me?" she added with a finger to her ear. "I need you both to attack the cockpit. One of you will clear the way in, and the other will finish the job."

"Cap—" Tracer spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Lena…I know he was your friend. And I know how you feel as well, Amos," Ana sighed. "But the fact of the matter is that Omnirex is too dangerous to keep alive."

"Agreed," Zarya nodded. "You can never trust an Omnic."

"He barely even qualifies as an Omnic, though!" Amos protested.

"That's enough. The decision is made," Ana said sternly. Amos' hand balled into a fist as he took a step forward, but Tracer put a hand on his shoulder with an apologetic look. "Genji, prepare to receive nano-boost."

"Wait, what?" Amos blinked. His answer came when Ana loaded a larger syringe—this one filled with a blue substance—into a launching device on her arm. Then he felt at his pocket; the forgotten dart he pulled from Widowmaker's arm back in Hollywood weeks ago was still there. "Ana, what exactly is in these darts, and what the hell is a 'nano-boost'?"

"It's a long story that I can't get into right now," the sniper replied, pointing her syringe-bearing arm at the Svyatogor, more specifically at Genji.

Winston clambered his way up the mech's torso, his jump pack rocketing him up to the face-like cockpit. His fur turned a deep crimson as his primal rage took hold, his fists pounding on the cockpit and smashing glass.

"Ack! The hell are you doing, you mangy freak?!" Omnirex blurted. He pointed his gun at Winston and fired a point-blank round into the gorilla's chest, the force of the blast knocking him off the mech's face.

But this only paved the way for Winston's allies.

Ana shot out her syringe, and despite the distance between the sniper and her target, the newest dart successfully found its way into Genji's side. Once the blue fluid was injected, the emerald glow of Genji's body was replaced with a vibrant sapphire. His entire body began to surge with what looked like electricity.

"You're powered up!" Ana informed him through their commlink. "Get in there!"

Genji complied, scaling the mech with a sudden surge of speed that even Tracer would find hard to match. In seconds, the ninja made it to the cockpit, standing before Omnirex.

"Oh, come on!" the Omnic barked, firing off another rifle blast. But, unlike Winston, Genji was not moved. "What?!"

"Let us take this somewhere else!" Genji declared, grabbing Omnirex by the scruff of his cape and pulling him up.

With a screaming and protesting Omnirex in tow, Genji leapt out of the now-faceless Svyatogor. Deprived of its pilot, the rampaging behemoth soon slowed to a halt, much to the elation of the people below. Genji's descent, however, encountered an unexpected obstacle: his nano-boost wore off, the blue glow fading with it.

Omnirex seized the opportunity, kneeing Genji in the side and kicking the ninja off of him. With his personal space established, the battered and beaten Omnirex's jets activated, carrying him over the walls of Volskaya Industries and out of sight.

"GENJI!" Amos cried, immediately running over to his fallen comrade the second the cyborg landed in the snow. "Oh, God, are you okay?! Please tell me you're okay!"

Tracer reached Genji first, helping him to his feet. A wounded Winston approached the group, Ana providing him some of her healing darts to patch him up.

"I am well, thank you," the ninja nodded. "But Omnirex—"

"Escaped," Zarya finished with a scowl. "Obviously, Russia has no need of Overwatch assistance."

"Well, then…we'll just take our leave," Winston said. "Come on, team, we're done here."

Amos frowned as they left. Normally, the resolution of a mission would purge his dread and replace it with relief. But only he knew that his mission was not finished.

* * *

Zarya and her forces escorted the Overwatch team out of Volskaya Industries, sending them off with a glare. The crew then made their way back through the nearby city, with Winston up front and Amos lagging behind. Tracer looked back to see the Talon grunt there, and stopped.

"You okay, love?" she asked. The rest of the team stopped as well. "You're not letting the stuff Zarya said get to you, are you?"

Amos sighed. "Look, it's not—there's something else I need to mention."

Ana raised an eyebrow. "And just what is it you'd like to tell us?"

Amos paused, putting his hands in a prayer-like gesture as he took a deep breath. Then, after a moment to gather his thoughts, he finally spoke.

"So…I think it's time I left Overwatch," he said. "And I'm going back to Talon."


	15. Chapter 15: Fallout

**And here we are...the final chapter of Bezold Effect.**

 **I want to (again) thank everyone who's read along so far, whether you've been following the Effect series from the start or were somehow intrigued enough by my incredibly vague summaries to give this story (and maybe the series as a whole) a shot. I know I sound like a broken record, but the fact that there are people who read this and enjoy doing so-no matter how few or many-makes me feel good about having written this.**

 **So, without further ado, let's wrap up the second adventure of Amos and...um...acquaintances.**

Chapter 15: Fallout

Amos had honestly expected his announcement to produce a more unified reaction (most likely involving the use of weapons) than it actually did.

Tracer's jaw had dropped, the rest of her face looking as if she had just been stung. Tina gave him a funny, but not particularly disapproving, look. Ana frowned and narrowed her one good eye. Winston blinked in shock and pushed up his glasses. Genji's head leaned back slightly, but it seemed to be more in comprehension than surprise.

That well-known dread infiltrated Amos' heart again. His intention with the declaration had been to give his heroes one last try, one final attempt at reaching some form of understanding with them. He had wanted to try, one last time, to open their eyes to the suffering endured by the people they saw as little more than mad dogs to be put down.

As with many decisions he had recently made, however, he regretted the decision mere seconds after making it.

"You're…really leaving?" Tracer finally spoke up, her voice cracking slightly. Amos squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the mist materializing in her eyes.

"Amos, I…I know a lot of us have been giving you a hard time," Winston began, "but it's something we can work out if we just give it enough time. You don't have to quit."

"Look," Amos sighed, "the thing is…it's clear to me that I _really_ don't belong with you people. I-I know some of you have been trying to make me feel like I do belong, and that's nice of you. I mean that. But, let's be honest…I'm never going to fit in with you all. I'm not cut out to be a soldier, I'm just—I'm too much of a big softie. So, I was thinking…maybe I could do more good with Talon? I mean, it's going to take time for you all to show up on the scene when Talon does its thing, and who knows how much damage they'll do by the time you get there. So…I think it's time I went to do what I do best, and that would be patching people up when my coworkers and superiors decide to unload all their ammo into everything that moves."

"I see no problem with this," Genji looked to his allies. "He could pass us useful intelligence, as well, should he prove able."

"Amos, you're hardly spy material," Ana pointed out. "It's safer for you with us."

"Look…Talon's going to be gunning for me if I permanently defect to Overwatch," Amos replied. "If I'm going to die no matter whose side I'm on, I may as well be on the side that I can get more good things done on. So, listen, it's been great getting to know you guys, but I think it's time I—"

"That's not what this is about, is it?"

Tracer's usual good cheer was gone. Burning pain and betrayal filled her once-bright eyes. A disapproving, baleful frown took the place of her typical grin. Her fists planted themselves on her hips.

"I know you, Amos," she said. "You don't want to go back to Talon because you want to do some good in a bad place. You want to go back because of _her_."

Amos' mind went into overdrive as the dread in his chest bloomed into full-blown panic. He could already tell this was going to go badly. All he could do now was try to minimize the damage.

"I should have known," Ana shook her head. "Amos, you're going to get yourself killed if you go through with something this monumentally stupid!"

"Uh, forgive me for being slow on the uptake," Winston interjected, "but are we talking about the girl he mentioned before?"

"It would seem so," Genji replied.

"Wait, hold on, which one?" Tina blinked. "He has a girlfriend?"

"Uh…it's—look, it's complicated," Amos stuttered.

"No, it's not!" Tracer barked. She blinked straight into Amos and seized his vest in both her hands, ignoring the fearful whimper this produced. "Amos, you know damn well what she's done! She's not worth this!"

"You need to pull your head out of the sand and listen to reason!" Ana added, striding up beside Tracer. "What you're planning on doing amounts to nothing more than throwing your life away, committing _treason_ , for someone who will never care about you!"

"You don't know—"

"We've known her for a lot longer than you have!" Tracer cut off Amos' protest. A touch of pleading slipped its way into her harsh tone. "You're not a monster like she is, Amos! You're not a killer! You're a good guy! You belong with us, fighting the good fight _against_ people like her!"

Something Amos had learned over the course of his life was to take all of his frustration and simply tuck it away; giving in to wrath would resolve nothing, and he was quite certain no one wanted to hear about his problems anyway. It was no different during his time with Overwatch, where the callous attitudes forced the Talon soldier to simply grit his teeth and bear with it. But today, with multiple voices bearing down on him—chewing him apart for daring to think differently than they did—the little cubby where he repressed his anger felt more like a pressure cooker.

Amos took a few short, shaky breaths—desperate attempts to keep a lid on his steadily-growing temper—he spoke again. "So…you're just going to kill her? Just like that?"

"Yes," Ana nodded. "And you're going to help us see justice delivered."

"…justice," Amos repeated. Steam began to filter out of the pressure cooker, threatening to unveil everything the grunt had spent weeks hiding away for the sole purpose of keeping a few fragile bridges intact. With as calming a breath as he could manage, he removed Tracer's hands from his vest. "Is that what you call it when you kill people who are doing bad things solely because of bad circumstances?"

"Amos, listen to yourself!" Tracer's hands were back on him, this time shaking his shoulders. "Listen to what you're saying! How can you be so bloody _stupid_?!"

And then the lid finally exploded off of the cooker.

"All right, you know what? To hell with you people! I'm done trying to be reasonable!" Amos snapped, ripping Tracer's hands away. "You expect me to listen to you, and _only_ you, after all of you spend weeks and weeks kicking me around and spitting in my face?!"

"A-Amos, we just want you to think this through—" Winston ventured.

"I don't give two _shits_ what you people want anymore!" Amos roared. "You know what? Let's get this out of the way! That girl I like so much? Her name's Amélie Lacroix, otherwise known as Widowmaker! Yes, I have thing for the person who killed Tekharta Mondatta, shot Ana through the eye, and killed her own goddamn husband! There! Do you all hate me yet?!"

Every ounce of bitterness, every hint of resentment, and every kernel of fury that Amos had bottled up had finally seized its chance to spew out into the world with all the force of an erupting volcano. Tina recoiled slightly, taking a few steps back at his unprecedented wrath. Tracer merely bit her lip, while Ana pursed her own. Winston frowned worriedly, finding himself at a crossroads now that he knew the identity of Amos' crush. Genji simply looked on, face unreadable beneath the silver mask.

"You know what I did in college? I spent years working my ass off day and night, trying to become the kind of person Overwatch would want to have!" Amos railed. "I thought you people were heroes! I thought you helped people, and I wanted to help people! But, I guess I _wasted_ all that time, because all you lunatics know is killing and rabid law enforcement!"

"That's not true—!" Tracer piped up.

"OH, REALLY?!" Amos shrieked and stormed right up to her face, just as she had done when she first learned of his interest in Widowmaker. She stumbled back slightly, eyes widening. "Remember Sombra? The one in purple from Dorado? What happens if her translocator makes her really sick?! What happens if she really _does_ disappear forever?! I don't know what dogma got drilled into your sick head, but—newsflash! Stealing does _not_ make you less of a person! Especially if you're like Tina here and do it to _survive_!"

The girl in question drew back, clearly not wanting to be involved with this.

"Speaking of being treated as less than a person, what about Genji?" Amos continued, gesturing to the ninja. "What if he didn't want to fight the people who raised him?! I'm willing to bet every cent I have that you maniacs would have left him to die if he didn't want to devote his life to doing your dirty work! And you didn't even give him a halfway- _normal_ life! You just made him into a living weapon in a world where human-shaped machines are treated like monsters!"

Genji sadly looked down at his mechanized hands. Amos' words rang true with him.

"Oh, and let's not forget the reason this conversation got started, huh?" Amos yelled. The bulk of his rage had already been dispersed, but a fair amount still remained. "What about Widowmaker? What about _Amélie_? Talon screwed with her head like they screwed with mine—maybe even more than mine—and that means nothing to you people? Who the hell have I been idolizing since I was a kid?"

"Amos," Ana sighed. "This isn't a world where naivety is healthy. You have to face the facts."

"What _facts_?!" Amos snapped. "Actually, don't answer that, you'll probably just spit some bullshit in my face and expect me to swallow it whole!"

For the briefest moment, the only sound was Amos' wrathful heavy breathing. He eventually put his hands together in a prayer-like gesture and took a single deep breath that, in the back of his mind, he suspected would be his last.

"Listen, Amos—"

"I've had enoughof being the team punching bag," the grunt interrupted. "If you want to fake being heroes, you can do it without me."

He turned his back on the agents of Overwatch and took his first few steps away from them.

Then he heard a click.

"…I'm sorry," Tracer choked through tears. One of her pistols was aimed at his back. "I can't let you do this."

Amos gritted his teeth. Tension thickened the air. Ana took aim at Amos with her rifle. Winston looked to each of his friends in turn, searching for a solution. His eyes landed on the Talon grunt before him.

"Amos…could you at least tell us _why_ you want to be with Widowmaker so badly?" he asked.

"Well…I just don't want to see her for who she is now," Amos replied. "I want to see her for who she could be."

The familiar turn of phrase gave the ape pause. Only Winston, however, seemed to recognize it. Tracer and Ana kept their weapons trained on Amos. Genji's hand was on the hilt of his sword, though he kept his visor fixed on the two women. Tina held her staff at the ready, teeth bared in a snarl. Every individual present waited for someone else to light the powder keg.

Then Amos felt something unseen grip his shoulder.

"Cheers, love!" cried none other than Sombra as she faded into view and whipped out her submachine gun. "The cavalry's here!"

The hacker sprayed bullets from her gun, forcing the Overwatch crew to scatter. Once Sombra's fire ceased, the team prepared to regroup, only to find a slithering shadow rising off the ground before them.

"Clearing the area," growled Reaper as a tornado of darkness swirled around him, letting loose with his shotguns in his signature Death Blossom maneuver. Overwatch's agents separated even more in their attempts to evade the grim gunslinger's assault.

"Wha—you actually got _Reaper_ to help out?" Amos blinked.

"All I had to say is that he has a chance to kill Overwatch agents," Sombra shrugged with a smirk.

Tracer blinked atop a building, guns at the ready but hands shaking with rage. "You planned this out?! You already called them?!"

Amos opened his mouth to respond, but Sombra beat him to it.

"He called us just after you touched down here," the hacker smirked, leaning on the grunt's shoulder. "I mean, he needed _some_ kind of ride home if he was ditching you clowns."

Tracer's teeth bared into a snarl as tears streamed down her face.

"Aw, _pobrecita_ ," Sombra cooed mockingly before putting a finger to her ear. "Kaito, you're on!"

Before Tracer could open fire, a phantasmal tiger paw clubbed her in the head and knocked her into the snow. Amos winced at the impact, electing to focus his attention on the other Overwatch operatives instead. Reaper was facing down Ana and Genji, the cyborg deflecting the living shadow's shots. Winston bounded towards Amos and Sombra, only for Kaito to leap off the roof and charge into the gorilla like a missile, tackling the ape and using his furry body to leave a crater in the snow.

"Come on, _amigo_!" Sombra cried, roughly grabbing Amos' arm and pulling him along as she fled. "We've got a ship near here, it's this way!"

"What about Reaper and—"

"They have their own way back!" Sombra replied. "Now shut up and let's go!"

With most of the agents distracted, only Tracer remained unaccounted for. The British woman pushed herself to her feet and cleared her head with a shake before pursuing them. The chase took them through the city, darting from alley to alley and snaking around each twist and turn. Soon, however, they came upon a straight path leading out of the city limits. Talon's ship was in sight, resting in the tundra with its door open.

"Amos!" Tracer roared, finally opening fire.

Her shots pierced no flesh, but a few glanced off of her target's helmet. All she succeeded in doing was sending a chill down Amos' spine. With her rage reaching its own breaking point, Tracer ripped one of her pulse bombs off of her back and viciously threw it like a Frisbee. Amos swore as the bomb neared them, its body spinning wildly.

Then there was an echoing gunshot.

The pulse bomb suddenly exploded in mid-air, the force of the blast sending those close to it off their feet. Amos landed face-first in the snow, wiping it off his helmet as he rose and looked around. Tracer tumbled across the brick road, though she managed to flip back to her feet. Sombra was nowhere to be seen.

"You're not getting away, Amos!" Tracer growled. "Not like this!

He clenched his jaw, but said nothing as he turned and bolted towards the ship. Tracer took aim once more, but another loud bang rang out, and her pistol leapt out of her hand. There was a sparking hole in the time-hopper's weapon that hadn't been there before the bang.

Amos, however, had no time to consider why. He ran as fast as his short body could move, trudging through snow as he came closer and closer to Talon's ship. Every step brought him closer to his mentor, his friend, his…

"Amos!"

He ignored Tracer's enraged call as he clambered onto the ship. Before he could reach the button to close the door, a purple clawed hand beat his there. The door slowly began to lift shut.

"Glad you could make it!" Sombra grinned.

"Wha—where the hell did you go when the pulse bomb went off?" Amos blurted.

"Weren't you right behind me?"

A blue light whipped inside the ship, quickly forming into the shape of Tracer. With another snarl, she took aim at Amos with her remaining pistol, but Sombra's toed shoe collided with her back. The door opened again, letting Overwatch's pilot tumble out into the snow.

" _Taradita_ ," Sombra snorted, aiming her own gun at the fallen test pilot.

Amos, however, quickly pulled the weapon aside. "She's not worth it! We need to go yesterday!"

Sombra shrugged and pressed the button again. The door began to grind shut once more.

"Amos!" Tracer yelled again. "If you go through with this, we're going to hunt you down! We'll have to kill you, and any chance of redeeming yourself will be gone! Are you really okay with that?!"

Amos flattened his lips, though his helmet hid his expression. "At this point…I wouldn't have it any other way."

Tracer's eyes bulged, but before she could say anything, she vanished behind the closing door. The ship roared to life and took to the sky. Amos collapsed into his seat with his biggest sigh yet. Finally, it was over.

"Such a foolish girl, isn't she?"

His heart soared like a rocket at the familiar French accent.

Widowmaker herself—Amélie Lacroix—stepped out of the cockpit, evidently having left the pilot to do his work. A small smirk crossed her sapphire lips as she shot Amos a curt nod, only for it to utterly vanish when she turned her suddenly-steeling gaze towards Sombra.

"Your mistake has been fixed," the sniper said flatly, arms folded and typical scowl at maximum levels. "If you repeat it, you won't get another chance."

" _Sí_ , _sí_ , I get it," Sombra rolled her eyes. She brushed past both of her coworkers and made her way to the cockpit. Widowmaker's piercing gaze followed her for a moment before turning back to Amos.

"…A-Amé—" he cut off his own stuttering whimper. "Widow? Y-you're okay now?"

He could have sworn he saw her gaze soften, just a little bit. She nodded.

"O-oh, my God, you're okay!" Amos practically leapt out of his chair. "You're up! You're—"

He suddenly coughed and cleared his throat.

"I, uh…ahem…sorry," he said. "That was…that was a little too much."

" _Oui_ ," his superior said simply. "We'll discuss things in full back at base. For now, strap yourself in."

He never followed an order more willingly. Widowmaker went back to the cockpit, likely to ensure that Sombra interfered with nothing. Once he was alone, Amos pulled off his helmet and let out one more sigh of relief.

They had come for him. From the sound of things, Widowmaker—Amélie—had actually _wanted_ him back. It had to be _her_ who fired those shots that disabling Tracer's armaments. It had to be _her_ who organized this mission; no one else who knew of him at Talon would have done so, and certainly not for his sake alone. Even if she saw him as nothing more than an asset to Talon, the fact that she found value in his existence at all was enough.

It had been weeks since Amos found a reason to smile. Now, he finally had one.

* * *

Overwatch's agents could only look on as Talon's ship—Amos inside—ascended, rocketing off before any response could be mounted. Beneath his mask, Genji closed his eyes. Perhaps things couldn't have been different.

"Extraction complete," Reaper grunted. "We're done here."

"Gotcha, Gruesome," Kaito nodded, pushing Winston away and scaling a building wall and out of sight with fittingly cat-like agility.

Reaper, meanwhile, kept one shotgun trained on Ana and the other on Tina and Genji. The sniper frowned, but kept her rifle steady.

"Heh," Talon's shadowy agent snorted, looking to the one-eyed woman. "Guess you're going back on my list, Ana."

With that, Reaper vanished in a wisp of darkness. Ana finally lowered her rifle, heaving a sorrowful sigh.

"We should go," she said.

"Agreed," Winston nodded, failing to hide a glum brow.

But, as the ape led Genji and Tina on the path back to the ship, Ana stayed behind. Her one good eye was fixed on the spot Reaper where once stood, only to close a moment later.

"What happened to you, Gabriel…?"

As the others pressed on—Tracer having radioed in that she would be along shortly—Genji looked over to Tina. There were no complaints, no snarky commentary, no insults. She was…unnaturally silent. That was a problem.

"Are you all right, Tina?" Genji asked softly.

The girl slowly glanced at him. "I've…never seen this kind of thing happen before. Even when I was growing up, the other kids and I—yeah, we fought sometimes, but it was never this…"

She trailed off.

"…Genji?" Tina said quietly. "What happens now?"

He took his time with his response. "I don't know. All we can do is continue on our path, and see what the future holds."

Tina swallowed her fear, but slowly nodded. With Ana and Tracer rejoining them, the group piled into the _Orca_ and sailed into the sky themselves.

It was time to head home.

* * *

 **Don't go away just yet: there's an epilogue up next.**


	16. Epilogue

Epilogue:

"Ah, my friends!" Reinhardt grinned as broadly as he usually did the very second the team returned. "Tell me your tales of glory, and—!"

His joy faded considerably when he saw the state of his friends.

No one was smiling. Ana's harsh frown was even more pronounced than usual. Tracer's foot channeled her frustration into the nearest small object, sending it flying across the room. Genji was as unreadable as he typically was, but his body's motions were slower. Winston's sigh spoke volumes. Tina wordlessly stalked off to the fridge to drown her troubles in food.

"What is this?" Reinhardt asked, attempting to inject some his vitality back into the team. "What happened out there?"

"Our little stray showed his true colors," Ana explained bitterly. "Amos is back with the enemy, now."

"Is that so?" Reinhardt sneered. "I knew he wasn't trustworthy!"

Tracer suddenly cried out and viciously kicked over a chair before storming off.

"Lena!" Ana called, but the pilot was already out of earshot. "I'll be back."

As Ana pursued the British girl, Winston lumbered over to his desk, plopping his hindquarters down into his tire seat. The team he had fought so hard and risked so much to assemble was already falling apart. How could they win back the trust of the people if they couldn't even trust one another? No—they _did_ trust each other. It was Amos who didn't trust them. If that Talon grunt wouldn't see the risk in what he wanted to do, Overwatch would have to move past him—if not through him—to reach their goal of global peace.

Despite his resolution, however, Winston couldn't help but remember Amos' words about his superior; about how he wanted to see her for what she _could_ be, not what she _appeared_ to be.

* * *

Amos stood as upright as his skinny body could manage, saluting his beloved superior with more enthusiasm than he even knew he had.

"At ease, Clemens," Widowmaker said as flatly as she always did. "Now…fill me in on what happened after Sombra's little 'errand'."

"Okay…so," Amos began, "remember that one time when you sent me to infiltrate Helix, and I ran into Winston and Tracer?"

"Is it relevant to the current debrief?" Widowmaker raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, actually, yes," Amos replied. "Because of what happened then, they managed to convince their friends to…well…take me in. As…one of them."

She regarded him with a slightly bemused look. "Hmm. Continue."

Amos took a deep breath before doing so. "For a few weeks, they tried to have me do what they do. You know, the vigilante thing? It, uh…well, long story short, it wasn't fun."

"Did you at least learn anything useful while you were in their custody?" Widowmaker asked.

Amos paused, racking his brain for _something_ that would satisfy her. "Well…they're trying to build Overwatch back up. They got Reinhardt Wilhelm in recently, and…this one time, when we went to Egypt, this Helix Security officer said she was going to be in touch with Winston—he's basically heading the group, by the way."

"Does this Helix officer have a name?"

Amos pursed his lips. "Uh, she…goes by Pharah as her callsign, but I think her real name is Fareeha."

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes. "Fareeha _Amari_ , by any chance?"

"Yeah, I think that's it."

" _Magnifique_ ," Widowmaker sniffed with a hint of bitterness. "So, we now have a better idea of Overwatch's roster and potential reinforcements. What else did you learn?"

"Well…" Amos bit his lip; if he was going to say it, he may as well say it now. "Um…this is going to get awkward really quickly, but—"

"Clemens, you know how I feel about your stalling," Widowmaker sighed. "Just spit it out."

He winced. "I…learned some things about you."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Such as?"

"Well…technically I learned all this from Sombra first—"

"Ugh, why does that not surprise me?" Widowmaker sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, I know right?" Amos smiled slightly. "But, anyway…I was, uh…I was told your real name. And…how you got into Talon. And…what happened to your…well, you know…your, uh…significant…"

He trailed off.

"…my husband?" Widowmaker finished for him. The typically glacier-hard edge to her voice was gone.

"Yeah," Amos nodded quietly. "Um…for what it's worth, I…I'm sorry."

Something flashed through Widowmaker's golden eyes for the tiniest second. But it only lasted for the tiniest second.

"You really need to stop apologizing for things you had nothing to do with," she deadpanned. "Did you learn anything more that we can apply to our operations?"

He shook his head. "That's about it."

"Hmm…all right, then," Widowmaker sighed. "Dismissed."

She turned to walk away, but Amos reached out a hand.

"Uh—wait a sec, Widow?" he said. "C-can I—permission to say one more thing?"

His superior stopped and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Granted."

"I…wanted to say thanks," Amos said. "For helping me out of Overwatch, I mean."

Widowmaker shrugged one shoulder. "It's nothing."

"If you say so," Amos sighed. "Um, listen, I…I know sentimentality isn't really your thing, but…if there's ever a time that you want to—I don't know—talk to someone…I'm willing to listen."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Noted. Is that all?"

Disappointment seeped into Amos' heart like water into a sinking ship, but he overlooked it and nodded. "Yeah, that's all. Sorry to hold you up."

Without another word, Widowmaker left. Amos was alone again. But, this time, he didn't feel it quite so much. He knew that there was someone here, in the shadows of Talon's ranks, who would have his back. And, whether she knew it or not, she did more than that. She gave his life purpose.

It would take time to undo what Talon had done to Amélie. Given how long she had been under their control, it could take months or even years. But, Amos was willing to make the journey, and not just because of his strong suspicion that no one else was going to do it. He believed Amélie was worth it—no, he _knew_ she was worth it.

Once he finally reached his room, Amos set aside his gear and collapsed onto his bed. Things, he supposed, would return to normal soon. The mundane would overtake the thrill of change, the deeds Talon would ask of him would inevitably send his stress levels through the roof, and Amos suspected that he would eventually grow weary of his existence again.

But, for now, it felt good to be back.

* * *

Katya Volskaya stood with the sort of poise and elegance one would expect more from royalty than the head of an arms factory, her white suit gleaming against the brown and grey of her office. Her cold blue eyes were transfixed on the back wall, depicting a carved mural of what Russia saw as its eternal struggle. Humans against Omnics, now and forever.

The thunk of heavy boots behind her was expected. Volskaya did not even flinch.

"You've new orders for me?" came the voice of Zarya.

Volskaya's head turned just enough to catch the pink-haired soldier in the corner of her eye. "Indeed. But you may find them…strange."

"Try me."

The CEO turned around fully, her body icily rigid as she looked the soldier in the eye. "You will offer your assistance to the agents of Overwatch."

Zarya raised an eyebrow. "You were right. I do find your order strange."

Volskaya was silent for a moment, pacing around her desk and dragging her hand across a small collection of family photographs mounted there.

"We both know Russia can survive on its own strength," the CEO continued. "What I ask of you is not to change our relations with Overwatch, but to use them for the fulfillment of our own goals."

Zarya slowly nodded. "You wish for me to join their war with Talon…so that I may deal with the pest who infiltrated us."

Volskaya's hand stopped on a picture of herself with a little girl. The warm smile she wore within the frame almost seemed to belong to a completely different person. But then someone else picked up this picture, someone arrogant enough to threaten her with the thought of her own family. There was no warmth in Katya Volskaya's eyes now; just a loathing as cold as the Siberian front itself.

"Indeed."

* * *

Omnirex, battered and beaten, stumbled into the Siberian Omnium with a hand over his wounded shoulder. His fellow Omnics looked to one another with worried motions.

"Brothers," he mumbled weakly. "I…"

"Conserve your energy," one of his brethren advised. "We will see you repaired, friend."

They sat him down in a chair, and beckoned a Bastion unit closer. The Bastion's repair tool flipped out of its arm, and sparks showered onto the floor as Omnirex was patched up. The mad Omnic's forehead lights flickered as he growled like a wounded animal.

"They need to pay," he mumbled. "Bloody meatbags need to pay."

"Easy, friend," one of the Omnics spoke up. "They will not harm you here."

Omnirex fell silent, seemingly pacified by this. Once the Bastion finished, the former Eli Dror pulled his cape around himself like children would their bed sheets. An Omnic or two tucked him in, and the rest left him be. So he lied there, cocooned in his regal cloak, stewing in the memory of recent events.

Everything had been going well until Oxton and her friends jumped into the way. Why was it _she_ who made everything fall apart with her very presence? Her existence was his curse, ever since the day Mondatta died. She took away his idol. She took away his family. She took away his friends. She took away his brother.

The only justice in this world would be her death.

As he mumbled to himself and fidgeted in his fetal position, something crackled to life in his audio receiver. Omnirex poked his head up; no one was supposed to know how to contact him.

" _Hola_ ," a Spanish-accented voice came through. " _I don't think you know me, but I know you; after all, I was the one who gave you the tools to come back from the dead. And I have a little something you might be interested in. Let me know what you think sometime, amigo._ "

He sat up and put a finger to the spot a human's ear would be, but the voice was gone. The only trace of it ever having been there was an image file in his memory, something that hadn't been there before. How did the voice deposit that file? How did it know how to contact him? Why did it think he would be interested?

Omnirex paused as what little rationality he still had caught up with him. If the voice claimed to be responsible for his resurrection—even if it was only in part—the least he could do was see what was in the file. A quick scan revealed no viruses, just a single image. So he opened it.

It was an image of Katya Volskaya, the woman whose company he sought to plunder.

She was trading technology with the Siberian Omnics. With his so-called "heroes".

He sat there for a few moments, paralyzed. His hand eventually balled into a fist as he let out a growl, the volume suddenly skyrocketing as he rose to his feet. With a yell of pure wrath, he grabbed his seat and flipped it over, creating a deafening clunk. He picked up his gun and began firing wildly, filling every wall and non-sentient machine with lead.

"Brother!" one of the Omnics rushed back in. "What's the matter with—"

"WANKER!" Omnirex shrieked, storming towards his comrade and clubbing him across the head. Once he was on the floor, the mad Omnic repeatedly stamped on his body. "YOU HAVE THE BLOODY _AUDACITY_ TO CALL ME _BROTHER_?! YOU'VE BEEN GIVING OUR TECH— _OUR LIFE BLOOD_ —TO THE IRIS-DAMN _MEATBAGS_ , YOU SLIMY, MEAT-LOVING ASSHOLE!"

Other Omnics flooded in and grabbed hold of his arms, trying to pry him away. Omnirex's two spherical drones materialized above his head, each one sending a crimson laser into their stomachs. With no one to restrain him, Omnirex flicked his rifle, unveiling a compartment with a grenade inside. The Omnics fled as their psychotic brother completely unloaded his clip, sending grenades every which-way and detonating half of the factory, all the while screaming in unbridled rage.

"YOU FILTHY TRAITORS! COWARDS! YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!" Omnirex bellowed. "YOU'LL _PAY_ , YOU HEAR ME?! _YOU'LL PAY_!"

And then everything was still.

The Omnium was largely in shambles. Its Omnics were nowhere to be found, most likely taking shelter from their deranged comrade. Omnirex collapsed onto his knees, every last shot in his arsenal expended. His grunts and growls slowly turned to sobs.

"I can't trust anyone…not even my own people," he mumbled.

He slowly rose to his feet, ripping off his pharaoh costume. He dragged his rifle behind him as he left the Omnium, broken body and soul trudging through the snowy wastes. He had no one to turn to now, no one to rely on.

If he wanted something done right—if he wanted the Omnic world he dreamed of to come to fruition—he would have to accomplish it himself.

* * *

The night had been long and dark. Storms had raged for hours, pouring rain and torment down upon the people. Clouds held the sun captive, shrouding the land in darkness.

But no time of darkness lasted forever. Morning came. The storms dissipated. The sun freed itself from the cloud's entrapment, spreading its wings and lifting high above the life it governed.

One man smiled beneath a sealed motorcycle helmet, his gloved fists positioned on the hips of his blue jumpsuit in as heroic yet calm a pose as he could manage. The night had come and gone. Morning was here, and the hero known as Thunderstrike would be its harbinger.

"It's showtime."

He took a few steps back, and lightning began to course through his body. Then, he rushed forth and leapt into the sky, propelled higher than a normal human would by his suit's electrical enhancements.

No matter what despair the people suffered, no matter what losses they endured, hope would come through in the end. This was the vow of Thunderstrike, and it was one he intended to carry out.

* * *

 **And that's it! I'm willing to bet that what I have planned for Zarya will clash with the upcoming comic announced at SDCC, but given how the Effect series is basically its own continuity at this point (especially considering the timeline inconsistency between Side Effect 1 and Uprising), I'll just ride it out and see what happens.**

 **Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who took time out of their schedules to read my work. Beyond some side-stories that should be posted in the next few months, I'm not sure when the next full installment in the Effect series will be posted; November of this year at the earliest, April of next year at the latest (depends on what happens away from this project and Overwatch as a whole on my end). Until then, I hope you all have a good day in whatever life you live, and I'll see you down the road for the next story!**


End file.
